Chapter 3: Apple Parfait guy

"Gabi? Gabi!"

Someone with a nasally voice is yelling my name.

Wait a minute. I'm upright. Wasn't I supposed to be on the ground?

And there's pavement beneath my feet and dark clouds above my head. It's drizzling, but there are puddles everywhere and I suspect the heavy rain has passed.

Wait another minute. Am I wearing light blue sweat pants with a matching shirt in the same colour with pictures of bouncing bunnies on the front?

Holy shit, I've been transported back to elementary school, and I'm standing in the schoolyard.

My hair, which was much lighter back then, only reaches my collar bone. And there's so much frizz. Right. Because this is before I learned about hair product.

I see the tips of my red socks poking out of the holes in my battered sneakers. I wiggle my toes and the hole rips some more. Oh, how I missed that.

I stop evaluating myself and look up to meet piercing brown eyes.

It's Sharpay Evans, sheltering herself from the tiny raindrops with a monstrous pink umbrella. Except her skin is back to its former pale colour, and her face is framed by a mane of brown curls.

"Gabriella!" she calls again testily. "Aren't you going home? Everyone else has left!"

I finally recognise this.

It was the last day of grade five.

"My mom's not here yet," I find myself informing her automatically.

Yes, my mother had been late, and Sharpay had stayed behind to wait with me.

In a second, Sharpay's going to ask me if I want her personal driver to take me home. Then she'll take it back and propose that I go to her house to hang out.

She thrusts her nose in the air haughtily, leaving me behind with only a "See you later then" and strides over to the other side of the road where her car is waiting.

I follow her, hoping she'll ask me to come.

But she doesn't. And I watch the car drive forward a little, make a U-turn and drive past me, right into a puddle.

I'm showered with murky water, and my bunnies are now drowning in mud.

"Gabriella?"

This time it's a deeper, masculine voice. Not Sharpay's shrill one.

"Are you all right?"

As I pull myself out of my dream and sit up (because I know I wasn't really brought back. Time travel only happens in the movies) I find myself staring into another set of eyes, a clearer blue sky instead of the stormy grey one I was recently looking at.

"Say something," he tells me. And then adds politely, "Please."

It's Apple Parfait guy! He must have been the one who pushed the door open.

After a double take, I realise this person gazing at me concernedly is Troy Bolton, captain of the East High Wildcats basketball team. That title follows him everywhere.

I wonder what the cheerleaders would say if I told them that once upon a time, Troy Bolton, hottie superbum (that title follows him, too,) offered me, Gabriella Montez, a nobody, dessert? For my own amusement, I could add that we were on a tropical beach without cutlery and the sun was sinking into the ocean, sending purple and red streaks shooting across the sky and he put a hibiscus in my hair and …

Oh, he's still waiting for a response from me.

I quickly blurt out, "How d'you know my name?"

Troy answers, "We have classes together and I went to middle school with you."

I have a confused expression, not because I don't remember this, but because he does.

His brow furrows at my silence. "Don't you remember?" And then he starts describing our old school from its ugly-coloured bricks to its dilapidated textbooks and non-functioning drinking fountains.

Of course he has to think I'm suffering from amnesia.

"Troy, yes, I remember. I was only surprised that you d--"

"Maybe you should go to the doctor's. I'm so sorry, Gabriella, for hitting you with the door. It's just that I forgot about practice and had to come back, so I was rushing--"

"I'm fine. It's okay. And it was just an accident," I reassure him.

Troy still looks frazzled. Goodness, I should never have passed out. After this morning's news, I'm sure everyone's a bit on edge.

"You should still get checked out. Head injuries are sometimes more serious than people expect." He's speaking in earnest tones, hoping I heed his advice.

"All right, I will." I suppose I better. Being an athlete, he would know about physical health more than I do.

He smiles, stands up and offers me a hand. Such a gentleman.

I say, "Thanks," and take it. I'm caught off-guard when he effortlessly pulls me up. I thought you were supposed to leave your hand hanging there limply as the person grasps it tries to haul themselves up, and the hand was only a symbol of helpfulness, not actually helpful. That's what always happens to me.

Just as I get to my feet, I see something over Troy's shoulder. It's a thin girl gliding (possibly floating?) across the floor. Wavy blonde hair drapes over her face like a veil. She moans, "Why can't anyone hear me?"

I pale as I notice the figure is translucent, and almost trip over my own feet in shock as she fades away. Completely disappearing. Just like that.

No way.

That was … that was only … the latest technology in invisibility suits? It just had a little malfunction that I caught. Yes, that's it. I'll have to inform the science department. They're probably cooking up something. It's a secret mission from the president. He's requested their aid for military defence. Because that's what he does all day. You know, spy on different high schools throughout the country to find a really smart one to commission to work on projects for him.

"Gabriella?" Troy interrupts my theories before they develop further and become even more utterly senseless. He looks very alarmed now. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Hurriedly, I ask, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

Maybe all the cheering from the crowd during his big games has deafened him. Poor guy.

"Never mind. I should get home--I mean, to the doctor's. And you should be on your way to practice." To distract him further, I add, "When's the Championship game?" But then I remember I shouldn't forget things around him anymore. "Oh, silly me. I shouldn't ask because I already know the date. I'll be there on … " I start to flounder, "um, on… I mean, in red and white … cheering the team on … as you guys win … anyway, Go Wildcats!"

He smiles, a thank you for demonstrating school spirit. "How are you getting home?" he questions. "The buses have left."

I forget to think before I speak. "Walking."

Instantly, his disapproval shows. "Walking?"

"Walking!" I repeat brightly. "To the public bus stop?"

He does not seem happy with this either. God, he's insatiable. A bit of a worrywart, too.

He begins, "I could give you a dri--"

Cutting him off, I continue, "The public bus stop where my mom will be because that's where she like to park. For whatever odd reason." I have already inconvenienced him by making him outrageously late for his practice and would just like to get out of his way.

I start walking backwards, away from him and toward the door. "Bye, Troy."

He raises one hand as a farewell sign. "Bye, Gabriella. See you tomorrow?"

"Yeah, see you." I smile and leave, Goosebumps still on my arms from his touch and also from what must have been a figment of my imagination.