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Resistance: (noun) refusal to accept or comply with something.
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Whenever Troy thinks back on what he remembers of the Sharpay Evans who danced around him on a stage with a gauzy pink train, his mind conjures up an image that would seem more like a caricature if he didn't know for a fact that it had all actually happened; a seventeen year old prima donna, all shiny and sparkly, fixing that smile and those eyes on him, unknown agendas dancing through her head. A perfectly pretty, perfectly villianesque movie-like character.
This woman before him, the Sharpay she's become, isn't that little girl anymore. Gone are the sequins and shimmery shoes she wore as a kid, the big mane of blonde curls nowhere to be seen. Her face, always beautiful, had lost the roundness of youth, sharpened to a beauty undeniable. Sharpay Evans is all grown up, and the realization shocks him more than he could ever have anticipated, stuns him into silence. She's a woman grown, and grown well as anyone on the planet could attest.
And the only difference between that s girl and this woman was that he was even more at a loss of what to expect from her than ever before. The full blown tantrum she's in seems to be proof of that. Who knows how many of those he's seen over the years. This one seems different though.
"I see we've been expected," Joyce quips sarcastically, not even waiting for the tension to be efficiently dealt with before settling in at the conference table, notes in hand. Pointed glances at both Troy and Shelly have them scrambling for seats on either side of her. Eyes focused on the table in front of him doesn't so much to keep Troy from feeling those brown eyes trained on him, but he does it anyway.
"Joyce," the balding man in the room when they arrived greets her, sits on the other side of the table, shuffles the papers in his files methodically. "I think that today might not be the best time for this." Though he can't see for sure, Troy would venture a guess that the man is casting furtive glances in Sharpay's direction. It was a common enough practice at East High and it doesn't really seem like all that much has changed.
"Nonsense," she waves him off, pulling out her various lists and papers. "We're sorting through several options and this is the only chance we're going to have to…" When he risks a peek at her from the corner of his eye, he sees her smirking at Sharpay, all smugness and falsity. It's like two caged tigers circling one another he thinks. "Discuss things."
The man fidgets more, appearing like he's trying to shrink inside of himself.
It's astounding really, the effect Sharpay Evans still has on people.
"Now, basically," Joyce begins, "we have an incredible opportunity here. America's favorite athlete, bouncing back from a career-ending injury to a new profession matched with the biggest box office draw in Hollywood today. Coupled with the history…well, you can't write that kind of publicity."
"History?" Searching through the stack of papers he produced from his own mammoth sized briefcase, Troy watched the man's brows scrunch together in irritation. "What history?" His eyes shoot to Sharpay, who glares and squirms before she finally looks at Troy.
"High school," she says slowly, deliberately. "We went to high school together."
High school. Grade school. Pre school even, but Troy doesn't say that. He can't say much of anything really.
Joyce though, Joyce can't stop talking. "So you see, that's one reason why this project is out first choice. There's already a full proof marketing strategy."
And it's done. Sign on the dotted line and he's committed to a lead role in a major motion picture. For the entire summer. With Sharpay Evans.
How did this become his life?
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"Bolton."
Every nerve ending in Troy's body stands up when he hears Sharpay's voice, hears her heels clacking behind him. He sees a vision of pink and sparkles before he turns around.
"Sharpay."
Her arms go across her chest, and her chin tilts down, looking at him from under her lashes. Troy knows that look. "I just thought you deserved fair warning."
"About what?"
"I'm not happy about this," she says in a slow even tone. "And I don't expect that to change."
A ball of unease begins to unravel in Troy's stomach. He'd be lying if he said that Sharpay is easy to contend with. He'd be a fool to deny that she makes him nervous. At times, she's even scared him a little.
It'd be laughable if it were anyone other than him; Troy Bolton, who has stood toe to toe with professional athletes twice his size, afraid of someone as tiny as Sharpay Evans.
Not that he would ever call her tiny to her face. He has more common sense than that.
"And that means…" He's getting nervous now. His stomach is trying to escape via his throat kind of nervous. "What?"
And then his personal space is all but gone and he finds himself eye to eye with her. She has to be able to hear him gulp. Even he hears it. It isn't fair really, that she can still do this too him after all this time. He's an adult now.
But all it takes to make Troy feel like a kid is Sharpay Evans and that glare of hers.
"It means that I'm a professional, and it seems there's nothing I can do about this." There is though. She could drop out and they both know it, like they both know she's choosing not to. "But it also means that I'm not going to go out of my way here. Whether you flop or not, it doesn't matter to me." Her hair swings when she turns, a few errant locks brushing against his arm.
"Sharpay…" What's he going to ask her? For help? For some reason behind all the hostility she's flinging at him? He doesn't know. But he has to try something.
"What?" she demands. "I've said all I wanted to say."
This is wrong. He can feel it, in every fiber of his being. Troy's brow knits together as he looks at this woman before him; the little girl who used to sing Disney songs during recess from the top of the slide. Acting, singing, that's pretty much been her entire life for as long as he's known her. Which incidentally, happens to be his entire life? It always matters to Sharpay."
"You can't not care."
There's almost a pleading in his voice-he can hear it. Why? That's what he doesn't understand more than any of it. More than why doesn't Sharpay care-why does he?
Her eyes go hard. "I'm not Daddy's little girl anymore, Bolton. There's not gonna be anyone there to make it all better if I mess up."
Until today, Troy hasn't laid eyes on Sharpay outside of a tabloid magazine cover in over ten years. The headlines always read somewhere along the lines of a new romance or a hot new role, accompanied by the same big smile he'd seen nearly every day of his childhood.
On the outside it looked like Sharpay had gotten everything she'd ever wanted.
So why was she being so…ruthless. Why was she so bitter?
"It's nothing personal," she says, (It just feels like it is, what wit the daggers she kept shooting him during the meeting.) "It's business. My business, Troy. And I don't play well with others."
Oh, that much he remembers. There's still some little something niggling at him though. Something that doesn't add up.
"What is, it Sharpay?" He invades her personal space, the way she used to do in high school, until there's absolutely nothing in his field of vision but the coldness of her big brown eyes. "What did I do to you that you'd let me crash and burn and ruin your movie?"
"Troy."
Joyce sounds impatient. No doubt she's been watching them from the end of the hallway ever since Sharpay stalked up to him and made her intentions clear.
Guess he'll have to wait until their on location before he gets the story behind the venom in Sharpay's expression when he looks away from his agent and back at her. "You're still a kid, Troy," she says accusingly. "That same boy at East High, walking around with his hair in his eyes and his head in the clouds. It's not always about you, okay? Grow up."
And with that, she's gone.
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