Author Note: Friends and neighbors, I know that it's short. I know that you're probably going to be completely unsatisfied. I'm so very sorry. As I mentioned in another story, my nephew was born this weekend … so between welcoming Syler into the world and dealing with my piles of homework… this is all that my muse would allow. I apologize.

As always, I love the reviews. You all rock my socks off. Freaking amazing.

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"Pretty much all I have to offer you is pineapple fried rice," I called, rooting around in my cabinets.

"Well, I've never had that," Troy hollered back from my living room. "Sounds as good as anything."

"It's actually pretty good," I kept yelling as I assembled the ingredients on the counter. You just fry up some vegetables and rice in some pineapple juice and throw in some pineapple chunks at the last minute. I'm a fan."

"Excellent."

After our blow up in the car, or rather my blow up in the car, we had a great shopping trip at Amani. I spent far too much money – as I always do there – and even picked up some things to send back with Troy to give to Gabi and Andrew's baby. I know that I haven't spoken to her in about fifteen years, but after hearing Troy talk about them for these weeks, I have this odd attachment to them.

"Hey Sharpay," he started, as he plodded into the kitchen. "What's with all the Disney movies?"

I giggled, "So, you found my stash, eh?"

"You must have every Disney DVD ever made! I mean, you've got stuff that I've never heard of!"

"Well, it's kind of like emotional mac and cheese."

He laughed, "What?"

"You know how there are those foods that just taste like home? Well, Kraft Macaroni and Cheese has always been that for me. I stockpile the stuff and ration it like you wouldn't believe. Anyway, I've got some things that are macaroni and cheese for my soul. Disney movies, Madeline L'Engle books, When Harry Met Sally, you know, stuff like that. Emotional mac and cheese."

"Huh," he said, grabbing a bottle of water from the pantry and taking gulps. Not even Kenyans drink tap water if they can help it.

"Do you have anything like that?"

"A stockpile of Disney movies?"

"No, silly," I giggled. "Emotional mac and cheese."

He thought for a moment. "Yeah, a few things. You mean stuff that just makes you feel like your Mom is there even when she's a million miles away?"

"Well, obviously, you like your mother, because I would never describe it like that."

He blushed, "I'm kind of a mama's boy."

Okay, normally, that's a big red flag. Troy Bolton admitting to it? Kind of sexy. And by 'kind of', I mean 'really, really a lot'.

"Well, that's just precious," I teased him as I stirred the rice. I threw in some seasonings and added the steamed veggies.

"Whenever I'm really lonely and everything's falling apart, I eat applesauce and watch at least one episode of this old TV show that my parents loved. It's called Sports Night. Aaron Sorkin wrote it years ago, while we were still in elementary school."

"I've never heard of it," I admitted.

"Most people haven't," he replied. "It was only on for two seasons, but my parents loved it. This one episode… it's called 'The Six Southern Gentlemen of Tennessee' was their favorite. I mean, I'm sure it still is their favorite. Anyway, that's what I watch when I need to feel like I'm home."

"It's your emotional mac and cheese," I smiled.

"Yeah," he smiled back and leaned next to me on the counter. And the way that he was staring me down was making me want to strip him naked at that very moment.

Probably not the best plan I've ever had… but currently my favorite one…

"Shar?" his voice snapped me out of my daydreams.

"Yeah?"

"I think you're burning the pineapple."

I looked down and noticed that the pineapple was sizzling a little more than normal. "Shit," I swore under my breath.

He chuckled and backed away, giving me some space to work. The smell of burning pineapple took over the smell of Troy that had started lingering in my nostrils.

This was going to be an impossible night.

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Her apartment is like a page from international catalogue. Trinkets and paintings and framed pictures from every country that I can imagine. Some of are of Sharpay, most are of children and all are of subpar quality. I'm going to need to fix that.

"Do you want some Fanta with dinner?"

"What flavor?' I answered.

"Um, I think I've got citrus and black currant," she replied as she set the table.

"Do you even have to ask?"

She laughed, "You are such a citrus whore. I think I could get you to do anything for a citrus fanta."

"I'm performing monkey like in that way."

She rolled her eyes and scooped rice onto my plate. It smelled fantastic.

I made my way over to the table, scooting around Sharpay to get to my seat.

She smelled fantastic. Like jasmine and soap and … hope.

"Hope?"

"What?"

"I asked you if you were excited about Rwanda and you said 'hope'," she raised an eyebrow. "You do realize that's not an answer, right?"

Shit. I said that out loud?

In an incredibly mature move, I looked at her like she was nuts. "You must be hearing things, Sharpay. Are you huffing glue with those street boys?"

She nodded faked a tear, "It's just that I've been addicted for so long that I don't know life without it."

"There's help for you, Sharpay. We can get you clean," I replied, equally seriously.

"Troy, I mean, I just," she began to comically wail and then evidently couldn't do it anymore and broke out into laughter. Which made me start laughing. Pretty soon, we were both laughing so hard that we were crying.

It wasn't over anything specific, at least not for me. I was just laughing because she was. I was probably also letting out some pent-up emotion from the past few weeks and choosing to laugh instead of cry.

After a few minutes of trying to speak to each other and finding ourselves in a fit of giggles again, I felt her grab my hand.

It was like my entire body came alive and time began to move in slow motion.

I shifted my hand and wrapped my fingers through hers and sat forward slightly in my chair. Her laughter died slowly and I felt her eyes on my face. I slowly lifted mine to make contact and for a few excruciating seconds, decided if it was worth changing my entire life just to see if I was right.

This wasn't hormones. It couldn't be. It felt too real. It felt like I had tripped and fallen into the most real reality that I could ever imagine that was simultaneously a fair tale.

Well, Bolton, here's the fair maiden. It's entirely possible that she's the one you've been waiting for. The one that will join you on your adventures. She could be your lobster.

What are you going to do about it?

Well, subconscious, I'm doing go to do the only damn thing that I know how.

And with that answer to myself, I untwined my hand from hers. Taking both hands and placing them at the back of her head, I pulled her face towards mine and kissed her.

I kissed Sharpay Evans.

And I did a damn fine job.