Sorry it took me so long to repost! I really have to be in the right mood to write this story, and I did have it written for a long time and kept on debating whether or not to change it.

crushie- yes, I'm afraid Ryan does sound kind of poor and helpless, but that's not really true (in my mind, at any rate). He isn't helpless; just powerless, if you get my gist. He's not the kind of guy to feel sorry for himself, at any rate

:-D- thank you for the comment :) i hope you enjoy it

SoraElric- thank you for the advice. i am EXTREMELY slow when it comes to these things, and always need people to straighten me out :) thanks again!

TheNinaBob- i'm glad you like it!!!! i myself was very fond of this story, and its not finished yet, and i dont really plan on giving it up. Beyond was just getting too boring for me, haha

Spluttering as I came up, I wiped the chlorine water out of my eyes. Seeing as how Troy was the lifeguard at the pool at my parents' country club, Sharpay was just dying to go swimming. Of course, when she said swimming, she didn't mean splashing about in the water. Swimming consisted of lying on a beach chair trying to tan in her small bikini. Unluckily for Shar, she is like me in the way that she doesn't tan; she burns. We have both learned to apply liberal amounts of sunscreen (or suntan lotion for her) before we go out on scorching summer days.

It was reaching the end of the day. Gabriella was talking to Troy over the small fence around the pool's perimeter; urging him to hurry up and leave. Chad had already climbed down from his post, as Taylor was also waiting for him outside the fence. After all, only about four people were still in the pool, and I was the only one in the deep end. Troy refused point blank to leave his perch, but still chatted away with Gabbi.

On her way over to recapture Troy's attention, Sharpay's favorite ring slipped from her finger in her haste. I, of course, was ordered to swim down to the bottom and get it (big rings drop fast). Annoying enough, it had fallen directly down into the grate in the deepest part of the deep end. I dug my hand around in there until my fingers closed about the ring. I was about to swim up to the surface when something yanked violently on my arm. Looking down, I saw that my hand was stuck inside the grate.

I twisted and turned; trying to squeeze it through. No good. Apologizing to Sharpay in my head, I let go of the bulky ring and tried to pull my hand free again. But it was still wedged tight in the grate. I yanked and tugged and pushed and grunted and struggled, but it would simply not come free. My lungs began to burn for need of air. Couldn't they see me thrashing around down here? Evidently not, as still nobody came to my assistance. I felt like my lungs were going to explode. I need air! I began to see black dots in front my eyes as my attempts to free myself became feebler and feebler. I was going to kill Troy B. for making a fool of me this way. Unconscientiously, I inhaled a large gulp of water. My waterlogged head spun, and I remembered no more.

I WAS CHATTING with Gabriella when Sharpay screamed bloody murder behind me; I practically jumped out of my skin.

"Ryan's been under the water for over three minutes!" she yelled, pointing at the deep end. "And his longest time is not even two and a half! He's not coming up!" My own eyes scanned the water. My heart almost stopped when I saw Ryan floating eerily right above the pool floor.

I knew my duty. I dived into the water and swam as fast as I humanly could down to Ryan. I at once saw the problem; his hand was wedged in the grate. After three tries, I managed to yank his hand out. But I had to use both my hands with my feet pushing against the floor, and I head a crack—I correctly guessed that I had broken his thumb.

I shoved Ryan to the water's edge before myself surfacing. To my unrestricted horror, he wasn't breathing. I pushed myself onto the pavement and pulled the dancer up after me, laying him on the pavement face-up. My ears burned with the thought of what I needed to do.

Taking a big gulp of air, I put my lips against his and exhaled while pressing down on his chest with my hands folded properly. Four times I repeated CPR before Ryan started to cough up blood and water. I helped him sit up; just relieved to see him breathing again. My hand trembled for some reason beyond me when I touched his bare shoulder. It was most likely the thought of what Sharpay would have done to me had I let her dancing partner drown.

Out of the blue, anger began to boil in my veins. "CHAD!" I roared, stomping furiously over to him. "Why did you leave your post at the deep end? Ryan could have drowned if Sharpay hadn't been paying attention! And what if I hadn't been on duty?!" My entire body shook with suppressed rage.

"Troy, just calm down!" Gabbi said, looking bewildered as to why I was so mad. But I was not ready to calm down.

"How can you be so calm? A high schooler just almost died because Chad was being lazy…and because you were distracting me on the job!"

Now I had done it. Gabbi put her hands on her hips. "It's not my fault you're so talkative when you're supposed to be working!"

"And you told me I could go ahead and leave!" Chad protested in his defense. "Seriously, dude; stop freaking out"

I breathed a long, cleansing breath. I couldn't myself explain why I had gotten so fired up…it's just seeing Ryan Evans lying there on the pavement, lingering between life and death, not moving...it had scared me! And I was not easily scared. I looked back at Chad, Gabbi, and now Taylor (she had finally joined us). They were staring at me like I had lobsters crawling out my ears. My lips burned, and I realized another reason why they were staring—I had basically kissed Ryan. Who was homosexual. Subconsciously, I remembered how soft his lips had felt against mine, and how my head had leapt to see him breathing again.

But no; I was straight! I was perfectly straight, thank you very much, and happily dating Gabriella. This was ridiculous. And I told Chad and Gabriella just that. It took a lot of convincing, but in the long run they got the drift that my sexuality wasn't changing any time in the near present.

At last we left the pool; by the time we finished arguing it was closing time. My arm once again wrapped around Gabbi, I glanced over my shoulder. Ryan had once more vanished from sight without leaving as much as a footprint behind. He has a talent for making himself invisible wherever he goes to the point where you might be five inches away from him and not know it.

My brain seemed to be stuck on Ryan that anything; anything I saw reminded me of him. When we drove past an ice cream parlor I thought of how he would his sister's wishes and order the highest calorie item on the menu and wolf it down long before the girls had finished their baby cones. And yet he managed to stay in perfect shape and skinnier than an anorexic cat. We drove by a dance studio, and I thought about how perfect he looked dancing next to Sharpay, and how the stage light glistened in his crystal blue eyes.

What was I thinking? Here was a beautiful girl relaxing in my arms and my eyes were on some guy in my drama class. I don't know why, but I began to compare Ryan and Gabriella in my mind. He was blonde with blue eyes; she was brown with brown eyes. They were both short; Gabriella a little shorter. His skin was pale; hers was ivory. His smile was innocent; her smile was flirtatious. He was honest; she was conniving. He was sweet; she was strong-minded. He was mysterious; she left nothing unknown. He was adorable; she was pretty. Maybe that was what scared me the most—Ryan was winning.

Of course, I did not give anybody a whiff of what was going through my mind. The radio was blaring the entire ride home, so they took my silence to be the silence of one enjoying a song. I didn't bother to correct them; it was all to confusing to explain for me, much less to explain to them.

And then we were at the Evans'; Sharpay had invited us all over for a party. She unlocked the door and clapped on the lights.

"Ryan?!" she bellowed, making everyone over their ears. A familiar face poked his head over the railing. My heart bounced off my ribs. Now why had it done that? "Come on down here and pop us some popcorn, will ya? Make yourself useful!" He rolled his eyes and slid down the railing with surprising grace. Then again, when was Ryan being graceful a surprise? You could almost say it was expected of him. At any rate, I seemed to be the only one to notice this as Chad, Taylor, and Gabriella trooped behind Sharpay to the living room. While Taylor and Gabbi browsed through the DVDs, Sharpay yelled out more orders to Ryan, including to put dinner in the microwave, clean up the kitchen, and to make sure start the load of laundry.

At last the girls settled on watching "Moulin Rouge", even though we knew it would make us all depressed. With the movie covering our voices and Ryan out of the room, we commenced in school gossip. After awhile, the conversation wound around to the awkward twin himself.

"That kid is such a burden," Sharpay grumbled, yawning idly, "and he knows it. I try to make him useful about the house, but all he ever does is complain. I just wish he would disappear for a day or something so I could get a school experience without him at my elbow. He's just so annoying!" The rest of the gang grumbled their agreement, adding in their own view of how pointless Ryan's existence at our school was. For once, I kept my mouth shut.

But of course, Sharpay noticed my silence. "Come on Troy; aren't you going to vent your feelings with the rest of us? It won't leave this circle." Everyone nodded their heads to prove her point. I sighed and took a large gulp of my Mountain Dew.

"I guess it's just the fact that he is so absolutely queer that makes him so awkward," I said slowly, forming my words carefully. "In my opinion, it's weird to the point where it is almost impossible to carry on a conversation." The approval I got my friends egged me on to say more. "I just want to run away from him sometimes, I swear! Faggots are so un-human sometimes!"

The clatter of a bowl hitting the ground made all of us jump in our seats. I turned in my chair to see a red and blue bowl lying in shards on the kitchen tile, the buttery and salty popcorn spilled all over the place. A backdoor slammed. Ryan had heard it all.

My stomach sunk about fifteen inches. I was surprised the group didn't notice how much my cheeks were burning. Sharpay swore loudly and quickly swept up the broken bits and put them in the trashcan. Chad and I "took care" of the dirty popcorn.

The rest of the evening was uneventful, except for when the backdoor clicked closed five hours later and I caught a glimpse of Ryan bolting up the stairs. Chad snorted into his virgin margarita (Sharpay provided good snacks). His snort sounded something surprisingly like "queer freak". Why was he being such a jerk all of a sudden? I thought briefly of discussing this with Gabbi, but the words stopped on my tongue when I saw her giggle and nod. Had the whole world gone insane…or was it me that had gone cuckoo?

It was a sleepover party. The girls slept in the game room while the boys were put in the game room (Mr. and Mrs. Evans were paranoid that somebody might have sex or something). Mrs. Evans whipped up a delicious batch of pancakes before leaving for her week.

Twenty minutes later, Sharpay stormed up the stares to wake Ryan, and Chad immediately plunged into how Sharpay was actually kind of cool.

"I had thought before she was too much of a wimp, but after what she said about her own twin, I changed my mind"

I almost glared at him—keyword being almost. Why did he keep on changing the subject back to that tender topic? Was nobody getting the vibe that this was pretty much my least favorite thing to discuss right now?

Graciously, the topic drifted over to planning a shopping expedition for that afternoon. We were laughing about going into Alta to buy Chad more combs when Sharpay flew down the stairs, nearly tripping over her feet in her hurry. We stared at her curiously; but not for long. She at once told us what had her in a flurry.

"RYAN'S GONE!"

There was a long pause.

"…Gone?" Gabriella asked blankly. "Like for tutoring or something?" Sharpay shook her head furiously.

"NO—AS IN COMPLETELY GONE! RYAN HAS RUN AWAY!"

"Sharpay, calm down," Chad began, helping her to sit down in a chair. "When was the last time you saw him?"

"When he went up to his room last night after being outside for so long," she said after a shuddery breath. "And I haven't heard a peep out his room since. God, he might be anywhere! He might get raped!"

We couldn't help but snort at this. "Raped? Ryan? Sharpay, he's a high school boy. Relax"

"It happened before, you know…" Sharpay said quietly, but it shut up the group fast than any of her death yells. "Ryan's run away from home three times already; the second time coming back with bruises all along his arms and collarbone"

"But he's-"

"Exactly. I never said it was a woman who did the deed." My stomach heaved. Raped? By a man? It was the most repulsing thought my mind could handle at the moment. And yet my mind was already jam-packed as it was; crammed with thoughts about life around Albuquerque without Ryan around. Without his glorious blue eyes, flawless skin, powerful tenor voice, and adorable dance moves. WHAT THE HELL WAS MY MIND TALKING ABOUT? Even my damn mind was working against me. My body was throwing a conspiracy. My brain wouldn't think of anything other than what eye-candy Ryan was, my mouth wouldn't talk about how none of this was a big deal, my hands wouldn't unclench from a fist, and my pants were suddenly very tight and restricting at the thought of Ryan's bare collarbone and THIS WAS COMPLETELY RIDICULOUS! I am not gay, I kept on repeating to myself. I am not gay. I am not gay. I am not gay. I am not gay. I don't think I am gay. There is no way I can be gay. I don't think I'm gay. Could I be gay? Am I gay? Good God, I'm turning gay. No—focus on boobs. You like boobs. Despite at all my tries to cram my brain full of Chad's porn magazines, it all seemed so disgusting now. Everything about women suddenly appeared as annoying and nauseating.

How could I hold so many feelings at once? Nausea, lust, pleasure, worry, hatred, revulsion, confusion, anxiety—talk about identity crisis. I was a million times in debt to Gabriella when she grasped my hand for support. I needed her here, now, to anchor me back to the real me. But what was the real me anymore? How many more questions was this summer going to hold?

As this mob of thoughts lay siege on my brain, Sharpay and the others had finished calling the police to inform them of the missing soon-to-be senior. Where was Ryan, anyways? How far could you get in one night?

I ONLY BEGAN to have second thoughts about running away when I checked into the hotel in San Francisco. Yes, the one in California. California was always the dream place in my mind; where "odd" people where accepted, the beach was ready at hand, no annoying strobe lights, no bullies—where I might actually go unnoticed. Unnoticed; what a sacred word. It was a dream I had been longing for longer than my dream of becoming a Broadway star (and trust me; that's a long time ago).

But now…staring around me and the sorry, crummy remains of a building that had the nerve to claim to be a hotel that surrounded me, I began the nasty habit of freaking out. Not only had I forgotten to take my meds for the night, I had not brought any meds for the next few weeks! This might prove to be a sticky situation. Brownie points to me.

Throwing my messenger bag on the creaky cot, I fished around in my wallet until I found the scrap of paper with a phone number scrawled across it. Looting through my pocket, I pulled out my cell phone and wandered around the room for ten minutes before discovering a hotspot. At last I called the number of the only agent I had ever met; Walter Kronisky.

It took one and a half hours of convincing, but at last I pried a name out of Walter; the name of a curious talent scout wandering around town, ready for business. I was given his phone number and put on hold for forty-five minutes before speaking to the scout. Another one and I half hours and I had a restaurant, directions, and time. Despite my normally pessimistic view, things began to look up.

I GULPED DOWN a large mouthful of white wine at table four as I waited for my possible star to show up. I double-checked my watch. He still had two minutes left before he would be late. I was not disappointed; Mr. Ryan Evans showed up precisely as my fossil watch read 7:30. He was a lot younger looking then I had expected, with baby chub still clinging to his cheeks, but the old who can play young always brings good business. Excellent; this kid actually had potential.

We carried on light, but serious conversation for longer than I had expected—but not so long as to annoy me. I became so enthralled by his soft, gentle voice that I hardly noticed when my favorite band—Eight Broken Strings—took the stage.

"Enough of these business matters," I said finally, taking a final swig of my drink. "It is time to enjoy ourselves. Here is my card; please call me during the next week between 3 and 8 o'clock in the afternoon." He smiled; obviously pleased our first meeting had gone so well. I was happy as well; my boss would surely be pleased with such obvious talent. "Do stay on, though, and join in watching one of the best rock bands in California"

To my great surprise, he gulped nervously. "Rock band?" I stared at him.

"What's the matter; you do not like rock music?"

"Oh no, I do—"

"Then I do not see what the problem is." Mr. Evans looked very distressed about something, but said no more. I did not press the matter, as the first song began to blare from the speakers. Every time I glanced back at my potential client, he turned paler and paler but smiled reassuringly back. I knew that I was not harming him by making him stay to listen; it would do these kids good to get a taste of the real stuff.

To my unending delight, they had a special treat for us; a light show. A rare happenstance with Eight Broken Strings, but I was glad; surely in his young age, Mr. Evans would enjoy this entertainment. However, when I looked back, things were not at all right with the young man. His eyes seemed oddly unfocused.

"Are you alright back there?" He nodded, clenching his eyes tight. My eyes were drawn to the napkin clenched in death grip in his right hand. Was rock music that truly painful to him? And then the strobe lights began, and I once again drew my attention away from him. Christopher Winter, the main singer, looking almost surreal in the flashing white light. The whole thing felt like a dream.

For the final time that night, I glanced back at Mr. Evans to see if he was enjoying the show as much as I. But he was no longer there! After a bit of inspection around the table, I at last looked to the ground. My heart came a standstill.

Yah, so this chapter covered alot of time, yipes! Please R&R and tell me what y'all think!