A/N: As I am checking this for grammar and spelling mistakes, I am watching the Academy Awards. I am glad the strike was settled in time for the ceremony—maybe this will teach Hollywood a lesson when it comes to fair treatment of all people, especially the writers. :D Well, I'm only saying that out of solidarity, but whatever. Enjoy! -love- Desireé
P.S. Oh yeah, I am really absentminded… I've noticed I keep forgetting to insert the song lyrics in the chapter and, well, yeah. But they usually play up the chapter; therefore I'll always insert them later when I remember. :)
Chapter Fifteen, Music
Hey there Delilah what's it like in New York City?
I'm a thousand miles away, but girl tonight you look so pretty
Yes you do
Times Square can't shine as bright as you
I swear it's true
-'Hey There Delilah,' Plain White T's
As a child, everything is judged at a first glance; you have your little radar that detects who you like and dislike, what you want and how to get it. Something in the window shop, displayed so grandly and magnificently and teasingly that you immediately think you just have to have it, could suddenly be not so spectacular and sublime after you take it out of the box and the pieces fall apart, already broken. Troy thought Cassandra Noel was pretty—beautiful, at times. Just not the one for him. And he had known this long before the moment where she sat in the window shop, staring back at him; however, he seemed to forget this idea when they said their vows on the twenty-fourth of April six year earlier.
"Honey!" the supermodel squealed, dropping her bags in the John F. Kennedy airport and running to meet her husband in a profound, somewhat surprising kiss. Troy stumbled backwards, but locked lips with her as happily as he could all the same, ignoring the paparazzi flashes that weren't as apparent as usual. He appreciated this. Being in the public eye wasn't his idea of fun, although Cassandra adored the limelight on any day. "Gosh, I've missed you!"
He smiled softly, before looking over her shoulder to nod hello at her parents conservatively. Mr. and Mrs. Noel looked solemn but nonetheless pleased to see their daughter so blithe. "I cannot wait to show you my new tan," Cassandra purred seductively, not caring that her mother and father had front row seats to watch them canoodle. She ran her slipped a finger through one of his belt loops and grinned. "It's my Christmas present to you that I don't have any bikini lines—anywhere."
He nodded slightly, as if this was an appropriate answer to this pledge from a world-famous fashion symbol. "Let's go home," Cassandra said, waving to her father so he would pick up her bags. Mr. Noel looked irritated at the request, and also because Troy didn't jump up to help him with the luggage. Well, he was a crabby old man and maybe some good old manual labor would bend him back into shape.
In the car, Troy clutched the steering wheel so hard, his nails curled around to dig into his palms. "Sweetheart." Cassandra touched his arm and he jerked slightly. She raised an eyebrow. "Are you all right? You seem anxious."
"Never better," he reassured her, being completely honest. There hadn't been many times lately where he felt above what he did now—overwrought, angry, confused, homesick.
"Well, I can tell you're tense. Mama's going to fix it all when we get home, I promise," she added under her breath, glancing back at her parents, sleeping in their respective seats. "We had fun but I really missed you, Troy." She smiled coyly. "Did you miss me?"
The answer was no, and it always would be. Somehow, he found it in himself to wake up that morning and drive to the airport, but it took nearly everything to convince him not to turn around, pack up his things, and run away. It was the last part that got him to go get Cassandra; running away would stoop down to Gabriella's level. And he was not going to do that. "Sure did," he finally told her, and she ignored the uncertainty lying evidently in his voice.
TYWY
After Mr. and Mrs. Noel took a taxicab to their home in Queens, Cassandra curled up along her husband's lap on the couch and kissed his chin flirtatiously. When he didn't say anything, she sighed. "Baby, you look so tired. What's wrong? Are you hungry? I can call Antonio to come here and he'll cook us a gourmet dinner and it'll be perfect; he makes great linguini."
He shook his head quickly. "No, no, it's not that, I'm fine. But listen, Arielle and Harris…" His voice trailed off and he wondered how it would sound if he came out with the truth. They snuck down to New Jersey, and now they're staying with the woman you replaced. Okay, he definitely couldn't say that. They're currently residing in a small Podunk town and the landlord just so happens to be Gabriella, you remember her? She left us thirteen years ago? That wasn't so hot sounding either. The kids want to come home early from April's. Well, that was obviously the best choice.
"I'm going to pick them up," he explained reluctantly. "You see, April got the flu and I don't want them to get sick for Christmas and neither does she so I'm going to pick them up. I'm really sorry to just run out on you—" Bad choice of words, he thought "—when you just got home, but I have to go get them. I'll just drive up to Boston and I'll be back tomorrow night."
Cassandra sat up, looking at him in the eye, slightly confused. "You're leaving?" she asked dubiously. He nodded, straight-faced, and she hummed for a moment. "Well, I'll go with you. Maybe they'll be happy to see me?"
I think not. "Um, no, it's really okay, honey; I'll only be gone for a day."
"What, you don't want to be with me?" she pouted.
He shook his head. "No, of course I want to be with you, but you're jet-lagged, I'm sure, and it's going to be a tough drive."
The windowpanes rattled at that moment from the storm outside and Cassandra smiled. "Well, fine. But maybe then you should take the train, because no car is going to get out of this weather safely. I'd feel a hundred times better about you going by yourself if you went via Metro."
It was a chilly December twenty-second; he calculated in his head that a train ride should only take an hour and a half or so. And Cassandra suddenly looked really hot in her Victoria's Secret panties and J. Crew tee. Maybe it was just the loyal spouse in him, but even so he told her that he didn't have to leave just that night, and she snickered before wrapping her arms around him and laying her lips on his.
The next morning, an approximate two days before Christmas, Gabriella finds herself panicking.
"What's the hold-up?" she asked fretfully, tapping her fingernails on her knee as she crossed and uncrossed her legs. Arielle and Harris sat on either side of her, looking straight ahead at the television—which was off. Gabriella had been pacing, worrying, demanding, and begging for the past sixty minutes; the reason was Troy. When he had called the night before, to tell his children he would take the train down the following morning, she went off on tangent about how this was bad, because the first thing would just be a delay and the next thing would be worse and so on. "Did he sound mad? Or anything at all?"
Both children sighed. Harris finally put a hand down on Gabriella's fingers, trying to silence her annoying habit, and shook his head. "Once again, no, he didn't sound mad. He said he was going to be busy all last night, so he'd take the nine o'clock train down this morning."
"It's nine forty-six," Gabriella said, looking at her watch. "He'll be here in an hour and fourteen minutes! Oh my God! He's going to… Be. Here." She came to a silent stop and looked at both of the teenagers, red-faced and speechless. "Um, you know what, I'm going to go grocery shopping, okay? We're completely out of eggs, and milk, and cheese, and basically living-essential items. I shouldn't be gone very long; will you be fine on your own? Yes, well, okay, I'll be back." She hurriedly stood up and quickened her steps when she got to the top of the stairs. The front door opened, closed, and Harris burst out laughing.
"She's acting like such an anxiety-themed basket case," he said with a grin.
Arielle rose slowly and frowned. "I hate that she's being like this."
"Why? I thought this was 'part of your plan'; you know, get the whole gang back together. Or whatever."
"Because, if slash when I tell her she's getting all freaky-oh-em-gee-Troy's-coming-here, she'll deny it and wave it off as PMS or something." Harris rolled his eyes and Arielle shrugged. "I just don't think she's fair to say that blah, blah, blah, her life with Dad is over, but then just go postal on us because he's coming down here."
Harris stood up alongside her and then began towards the staircase. "Maybe she's just worried if it's going to be awkward," he suggested over his shoulder as she followed him. "I know it will be, but you know how adults try to make it seem like everything's always just fine and dandy. April says they live in denial over a lot of things, but mostly just because they want to avoid the topic of senility."
Downstairs, Arielle and Harris are bored and eventually end up snooping in the backroom to find a gateway to the past.
"One day," the blond girl said as she stumbled around what she and Harris assumed to be the storage room, "I'll come back here and if it's still a piece of crap building, I'm going to drag some people from TLC so they can clean it up. It's a mess."
True, there was no stability whatsoever between items, whether they be boxes or bikes or stuffed animals. Harris was rummaging through one of the shelves against a wall, when he found something very peculiar and beckoned for Arielle to come see.
It was hard to believe she had kept it all once she left; after all, anyone who knew them would say she was ready to get out, desert him and everything they had together. But Gabriella, indeed, had preserved the so many keepsakes Troy had giver her; it was her one exception to the no-old-life rule. Oddly enough, she refused to speak to her own mother for fear of running into the subject of her absence, yet she managed to dedicate an entire box to all the things with his name—or love—etched into them somewhere. Pack rat would be an appropriate description for her.
Now, crouching before the cardboard crate Harris had accidentally discovered, Arielle's hands trembled, just as they had when she first discovered the photograph of Gabriella in Troy's closet. Her brother stood behind her, arms crossed over his chest as he watched curiously. The girl ran her fingers through her hair and blinked a few times. "This is it, Harris," she said softly, "This is their past, their life. The world I always wanted to see… But now I'm not so sure." It was a mystery as to why she was suddenly getting cold feet, but Arielle had that gut feeling that people got in the movies when they were about to get surprised. Or ambushed.
"You don't have a lot of time, Ari," Harris prompted her, his voice cooled. "Dad will be here in, like, half an hour. If you don't look now—I mean, if we don't look now—then the chance may never come up again." The boy glanced over his shoulder; the door was still closed. Gabriella would come home from the market any minute. Inside him, his heartbeat pounded briskly, warning him, making him anticipate something perhaps unfortunate.
The box's lid felt funny beneath her fingers. Arielle grinded her teeth as she stared at the writing on top. Clearly inscribed was her father's name, with a thickly penned heart drawn around it. Gabriella had been honest; she did love him at one point. Sometimes that was difficult to remember. Finally pulling the cover off, a puff of dust hovered over the inside content, as if trying to hide the secrets up until the very last moment possible. The blond girl peered into the case, and felt her breath catch. Among many things, which included cards and yearbooks and God knows what else, there was a photograph she didn't recognize but immediately picked up. It was frameless, alone, and completely vulnerable by just being glossy paper but still it was magical, for the image of two parents, the brunet father grinning unevenly and the mother holding the black-haired baby with such tenderness. Jealousy, a vicious sin, stung Arielle's insides. She fell backward, her palms skidding the cold concrete floor. "They loved you," she whimpered, feeling more lost than ever before.
Confused, Harris leaned forward, and stopped when he saw the picture. For a moment, his mind was empty; he tried to speak words of reassurance, but it was useless. He had never seen a picture of himself as a young baby—Troy had gotten rid of any images pre-Gabriella. And now, looking at himself probably a good fourteen years earlier, the boy couldn't seem to say anything. Like Arielle, he had been unsure of what to expect from the box—love? A real mother? Memories all teenagers had that they didn't? Or, possibly something hurtful they would never want in the first place.
"What are you guys looking at?" Their bodies froze when they heard Gabriella's voice from behind. Slowly, Harris turned, as did Arielle, to meet her inquisitive glance. But they didn't have to answer; the woman looked past them and her eyes locked on the box. The box with the writing, her writing. The box that held so many recollections she would rather have skipped over completely.
"It's got that picture of you guys," Arielle said weakly, "You three around the holidays; you and our dad and Harris. You guys were happy when you had him. You actually smiled a real smile with no sorrow or fakeness or anything. What's wrong now? What did we do? Why—" She hesitated. "Why weren't you happy with me?" Her azure blue eyes widened, and Gabriella forced herself to turn away in order to keep from believing she was staring at Troy.
Before Harris could do or say anything, his sister ran past him and he heard her feet clash with the steps as she stormed upstairs. "You guys had the real deal at one point," the teenager murmured, looking down at the ground. From the corner of his eye he saw Gabriella nod and squirm slightly, her beet red face still angled toward the box. He could see her thinking, wondering how she could have possibly ignored such a treasure trove for all these years. "Go on, take a look. You deserve some relief." There was a numbed moment of peace between them just as he added, "And I know we've only been here for a couple days, and we haven't even begun to repair the damage, but I'm being completely honest. You deserve every bit of it." He hesitated, before: "Mom."
She felt tears brimming on her eyelashes, but a grin simultaneously slipped across her face and she swallowed the boy into a hug. "I'm sorry for this… shit," she whispered, knowing it was her fault that she would never know what he was like as a baby, or how fast he grew up, or what grades he got in school, or what movies he loved as a child. It was all her fault. And so she said feebly, "Harris, I'm just so sorry."
Eyes ablaze just like she remembered Troy's to be, the teenager pressed his hand into her arm absently and replied, "Well, I know. And I'm sorry Arielle didn't get to see that first actual smile. She would have been happy to think sadness doesn't affect everything." Gabriella's lips twitched to grin again and she kissed his head before edging toward the box once more. Harris bowed his head. "It's all yours."
As she knelt before the box, she heard him leave the room. Might as well. She could be nearly certain that he wouldn't care to watch his mother find all her regrets for ever leaving his father. "Honestly," she sighed to herself as she picked up the picture Arielle had mentioned earlier. She could see the thumb impressions on the sides; when she first came to New Jersey, she had looked at that picture forever and ever. The girl had been right. She was happy with Harris; it would be a lie to say she was happy with Arielle, too.
The box held things like little gifts Troy would randomly buy her, for the sake of pocket money and economic freedom. She picked up a baseball cap that had belonged to him, but she always wore. Running her fingers along the brim, she lifted it to her nose, wondering if it still emitted a scent that at least could remind her of Troy. But there was nothing. Not one little hint of his sweaty body after he played basketball; not a whiff of his father's cologne she said she hated but secretly adored; not a single redolence of that regular person-smell she loved when she laid her head on his chest. And she missed this, more than she should have. Cassandra and Troy, sittin' in a tree.
There was a wooden nesting doll, and Gabriella lifted her out of the box to gently shake her. She could hear the 'chook-chook' inside, and smiled slightly. That family stayed together, no matter what.
As she picked up one lavish trinket after the next, she couldn't believe she had ever found these things to be cute and endearing. More like foolish, she decided scornfully. And wasteful.
She was also beginning to worry about this lying compulsion.
Even if she was being untruthful with only herself, that could be harmful still, right?
"Troy," she said softly, spreading her arms over the box so she rested her chin on the edge closest to her. "You never failed to make me smile, yet now I'm grimacing, a-and—talking to myself. I'm talking to myself. Great."
Foolish. That could be said for both sides of this cold war.
TYWY
The stereo seemed to emit pain and anger, luxury and love. She rolled her fingers along the volume knob, hearing Paul McCartney's voice soothe her aching body and form tears again. "Let's name him after one of the Beatles!"
The room spun wildly as Troy felt his head whir and his legs melt. He had to hold his hand up against the doorframe to finally steady himself. The image of Gabriella Montez shot a bullet through his heart, and he felt the pain much longer than one would assume. Mouth dry and mind blank, he glanced around the room, trying to rationalize what song was playing. The Beatles, he knew that much. The lyrics said it all: Falling, yes I am falling. And she keeps calling me back again.
After thirteen years, Troy Bolton found he was still falling. And that scared him, out of anything and everything else, most of all.
"It's the CD you made me," Gabriella told him stiffly. Her arms were crossed over her chest and her face was twisted in a manner of disdain, standing next to the music player. "The one for my nineteenth birthday. I was three months pregnant then. There was a lot of good news on that day." He gaped at the stereo, the volume knob soon twisted to the left by Gabriella, silencing the opening lyrics to Dashboard Confessional's 'Stolen.' "I still have the case," she said softly, "With your message on the back." She picked up the plastic cover, and squinted at the writing. " It says, 'Brie—these songs describe what comes to my mind when I think of you. xo Troy.'" She couldn't help but smile. "Harris was right. I guess at one point we were in love. We had the music."
His heart cracked a little more. "I'm so sorry, but this is insane. I can't stay," Troy finally said, clearing his throat. "Where are they? We—we have to go. Oh shit, I'm so sorry they just barged in like this. They had no right; I should've found them sooner. They're going to be in so much trouble, they'll forget what fun is." These were the moments where he felt old, trying to keep his teetering life steady while his kids ran around, bumping their heads and scraping their knees like it was no big deal. It wasn't, anyway.
She shook her head, lips pressed together quickly. "No, I've enjoyed their company. It's a little lonely down here, and they're bright children. You're lucky."
Running his fingers through his hair, Troy looked at her. "You could have been, too," he said, his voice low and broken. "You could have been lucky, Gabriella."
Again, she shook her head. "We both know that isn't true, Troy, and for different reasons than most people could assume," Gabriella sighed and turned the music on again. Now it was 'Hey There Delilah'. "How are they? Do they like Cassandra?"
There was a shock in his face, as if he couldn't believe he was having this conversation with her. "I can't talk to you," he moaned, running his hand through his hair in a huff, "I have to go. Where are they? Arielle! Harris!" He turned and vanished into the other room, leaving Gabriella to stare down at the case. A list of the songs, all meaningful in their own way, scribbled in Troy's handwriting.
He reappeared, unsettled as he pulled off his jacket. "God, it's hot in here," he said harshly, trying to hide his shameful chagrin as much as possible. They avoided eye contact before he finally grew impatient. "Gabriella, where are they?"
Dropping the case into the box, she looked up at him. For once, the brown color in her eyes didn't mix with the blue in his, and a wall was built between them. "I can't believe I've kept all this," she mused sadly, "It's amazing what keepsakes are still in here."
While there was a slight interest in his expression, Troy shrugged it off and repeated himself. "Gabriella, listen to me. I need to leave. We need to leave. Where are Arielle and Harris? We can't stay here. They shouldn't even be here! This is a small New Jersey town! They're not—" He paused for a split second, and she could have sworn he looked at her to fill in the blank.
"Human?" she guessed, her eyebrows knitted in exasperation. "Troy, they're teenagers. They're young, they're ambitious. They're…" She drifted off for a moment, her voice in a weak whisper as she finished, "Us. They're just like us, Troy." Tears began to fall from her lashes. "I mean, Harris is a walking replica of me, and Arielle is your entire DNA blueprint. Please, don't take them away from me just yet—I can't bear to see that life leave again so quickly."
Eyes narrowed, Troy let out a low snarl of hatred. "You left, Gabriella," he hissed, "You left that life. It didn't leave you. And it's been waiting for the past thirteen years, hoping made you'd come back. Now that it's here, you cannot and will not have it. We're leaving."
Behind them, Arielle materialized, red-faced and agitated. "Dad, we can't leave," she sniffed, and Harris came next to her. Their father's face changed a moment, thankful to see them. "This is our mother—we can be a family again. Isn't that good? All this time I wanted to know, and now we're here. We have to make a big effort, I know, but it'll be worth it." She arranged a smile, and Troy went back to glaring at Gabriella.
"You haven't told her?" he growled, his rage rising like a high tide. "Jesus, Gabriella, she's been here a week and you haven't told her?"
The blond girl leaned toward the conversation. "Told me what?" she asked, her hands pressed together, her fingertips to her mouth.
The adults ignored this inquiry. Gabriella wiped her face again, trying to keep the tears from staining her cheeks. "You can't be mad at me," she retorted crossly, "You've had thirteen years to tell her, I've had three days. There's quite a big difference there."
He frowned. "But I didn't need to tell her, Brie," he said, his voice cracking on the return of the nickname. "Cassandra was fine. Ari didn't need to have any more complications than she already did. Maybe one day, if she asked, I'd get on with it and tell her, but I never had the responsibility to speak the truth, because it would have only made things worse, not better. I never felt or knew I had the obligation to let her know."
"Let me know what?" Arielle said again, her voice loud over the bickering of the adults. She turned to Harris. "What are they talking about? Do you have any idea what's going on?"
Now the argument had turned over to the matter of leaving, again. Gabriella seemed to tremble as she protested the children's happiness as wells as hers, and Troy retaliated with an angry father tone of voice. "You are not their mother," he spat, "And you never will be. You can't dare tell me how to parent these two children when you have no experience yourself. Do you know how much it hurt to find that damn note, Gabriella? How difficult it was to read the words 'independence' and 'burden' written in the same sentence with my name? And you just had the most unemotional phrases in the world! Not one sentence hinted remorse, guilt, anything. You were so damn serious when you wrote that."
She glowered. "Don't reprimand what I've done in the past, Troy," she snapped. "That note poured every freaking emotion left in me, so I don't see why you had trouble reading that. These barren thirteen years have left me no room for sentiment, yet I have cared for these two beautiful teenagers for the past few days, and all the while every part of me has regretted ever leaving. But at the same time, I can't say I'm sorry for packing my bags, I just cannot. There's never been a more certain time in my life where I felt I could breathe again. You'll never understand the fact that I was suffocating in New York—it would be my every wish to have you able to empathize, but you can't."
Fists clenched, Troy leaned against the wall. "So I was smothering you?" he asked, the blue in his eyes turning a frightening gray. The children were beginning to worry about the choler boiling on their father's face.
"No," replied Gabriella patiently, although she was getting livid as well. "No, you were never smothering me, Troy. I was… I was smothering myself." Now the tears were coming freely, like always. "But to see these children, beautiful and tall and insanely wonderful, after so many years of loneliness, I can't bear to see them leave so soon. You can't just take them back—"
The teenagers both exchanged timid glances. Troy scoffed and stuck his hands in his pockets. "Yes, I can, Gabriella," he chastised in a firm but quiet voice unlike before. "I may never understand the fact that you were suffocating in the city, but you'll never understand the fact that I am still their father, through and through, regardless of where you stand in their lives. And I am taking them home."
"Dad!" both Arielle and Harris demurred in unison. The brother picked up, "We can't leave, Dad, not yet. We've gotten this new perspective, this new approach and feeling here! We're—we're happy, Dad." He looked at the man with a begging countenance, and Troy sighed.
"It's not worth it, guys. In two days, it'll be Christmas. Cassandra is at home, waiting and tolerating this stupidity. We're going, and that's final. Come on, get your bags, I'm taking you guys back home."
"With what right?" Gabriella cried, her eyes widened with horror. "Troy, can't you hear your children? Can't you hear me? I'm in no way apologizing for what I've done—but I'm apologizing for who my actions affected and how they did. Please, listen to me. Can't you—can't you stay?" Gabriella inhaled and exhaled slowly, her eyes shining with tears. "I don't know exactly what it is I'm asking, but I want, I need you to stay."
Desperation haunted his mind. He was going back in time, through the many years spent with Cassandra and his agent and all the newer people in his life. The months rewound before he was finally the nineteen-year-old in love with a girl who was carrying his child. She smiled at him, and he smiled back. They were, at this moment, happy. But here, in the present, he could only shake off the thought and frown sadly at her. "Gabriella, we can't stay," he said hoarsely.
She took another sharp breath, and Arielle burst similarly into tears, her eyes ablaze with hurt. "I don't want to go back!" she screamed. "I hate Cassandra, Dad! I hate her! I don't want to go back!"
"Dad, neither of us don't want to go back," Harris said pleadingly. "We have no friends in New York. But the people here are nice, and welcoming, and have more things on their mind other than money and looks. It's so different from New York. Sampson is so much deeper, so much more alive and well than the city. At home, everyone's dead, dying, or ready to start killing themselves—why don't you see that we can get away from that here?" He shifted uncomfortably under the pressure of a fight, wishing it were nine forty-six again.
Body rigid, Arielle looked at her father with a frustration only a new teenager could have. "I know you're blind for the most part about anything going on with us, Cassandra always did her job to make you forget about what we thought, but maybe for once you can just stop and listen." Hands on her hips, she cocked her head to one side and glanced at both adults, eyes misty. "I know this is awkward, painful, maybe even a waste of time, but can't you come to terms with the fact that I've finally done it? I've brought this broken family together! I've tied loose ends, I've sewed ripped seams!"
Heart cracking for the final time, Troy looked at Gabriella. "You have to tell her," he said quietly. "She wouldn't believe me if I tried. But she has to know."
As the girl finally settled down, the older woman came to stand before her, sniffling over and over uncontrollably. "Arielle, listen to me," Gabriella said with a gentle but unsure voice, placing her hands on her shoulders "Please, I know this is hard to hear, but I need you to just listen to me. I'm… I'm not your mother. Just Harris'—but not yours." And at that moment, while her father and brother watched and the woman she thought had been her heroine dithered with a fractured soul, the hope that had lain in the blond girl's eyes for her entire thirteen years of life burnt away to a vacant stare that would break the heart of any passerby.
A/N: This is a confusing and very long chapter. I just wanted to get something published; it's currently 11:42 as I finish correcting everything. Excuse any other typos, I'm tired and… blah. Well. Please review! This is one of the turning points in the story. :) -love- Desireé