Chapter 8: "Don't leave yet"

Damn, this dude has the school wired.

I'm brought to this magnificent garden up on the school rooftop with spectacular mountain views, and wind up saying something cheesy like "It's a jungle up here."

And Troy says something about being best buddies with the gardening club.

I walk up the steps to sniff a few different flower types that I can't name.

"So, what's up?" Troy questions. "You seemed a bit off."

I take a seat on the bench and draw my knees up to my chest. "I just upset Mr. Wilson and Sharpay with one stupid note I wrote impulsively." Then I begin rambling, about my Calculus class and everything else that happened with Sharpay.

After the whole explanation, Troy comes and plops himself down next to me, stretching out his legs. "Wow, that sucks. But you're a good student, aren't you? He won't be too harsh, I bet. Just tell him what happened, but instead of Sharpay, say it was some annoying student who was disrupting you.

"And speaking of Sharpay, she'll come around. You're the only one who can see her, anyway."

He gives me this adorable lopsided smile that I wish I could sell because I'd make a fortune and never have to worry about calculus again.

At my silence, he says, "Okay, I know. I give crappy advice, but I do have this." He unzips his backpack and pulls out a chocolate chip cookie wrapped in plastic film and hands me it. "Zeke's the best baker I know."

"Ooh, comfort food." I accept the treat, but I don't eat it yet because the butterflies in my stomach wouldn't like that. "Knew I kept you around for a reason, Bolton."

Troy narrows his eyes. "If you're only looking for cookies, go befriend Zeke then."

I take my feet off the bench, as if I'm going to stand up. "Actually, your advice isn't bad. See you."

"Wait." He puts a hand lightly on my arm to stop me and straightens up. "Don't leave yet."

I roll my eyes. "All right, all right, your highness."

"What?"

Giggling, I say, "You're East High royalty, aren't you? Being the basketball captain who's probably going to lead the team to back to back championships, I figure everyone wants to please you and be your friend."

Troy takes in my words. "I don't want to keep you here if you don't want to be here."

"No," I say hastily. "I want to."

He beams. "Good."

"Do you?"

"Yeah, of course, why wouldn't I want to be here? You're good company."

Is he doing that thing? That fake thing that people who have status do to make them not seem like a snob. They pretend to be caring, but it's all an act.

"Don't you have better company elsewhere?" I look down toward the floor, which is actually the roof, intending to gesture to the people bustling around in the cafeteria below, specifically his basketball buddies at their elite table.

"Nah, I'm with them everyday. Maybe I want a break from all the game discussion." He shrugs and leans back.

I unwrap the plastic from my cookie, break it in half, and hand him one of the pieces. "Feeling pressured?"

"Thanks, Montez." He takes it, giving me that grin again. "And maybe a little." His half is devoured in two seconds.

I take a timid bite and swallow. "You really shouldn't worry. The team's undoubtedly ready, or so I've heard."

"Usually, the nerves help a bit, but I wish the game didn't have to be brought up every other minute."

"Oh!" Realization dawns on me. I'm not even on the team and I'm harassing him about it. "Sorry. So, um, the weather's nice, isn't it?"

Troy chuckles, his azure eyes twinkling. "It's okay. Talking with you about it isn't as bad. Don't forget that I brought it up, too."

I smile back and pathetically nibble some more on my cookie. Stupid butterflies.

"Are you still coming?" he asks suddenly.

"To the game? Yeah, sure. Or else for the week after all the buzz in the hallway will make no sense."

"Oh, so you're going for your own personal benefit." He looks away, nodding and feigning hurt. "Not to support a friend or anything."

"I have a friend on the basketball team?" I throw the question out there, heart racing.

"Yeah, me." He faces me again, an amused expression evident. "You sure are slow. Hopefully you didn't do too bad on that quiz."

I want to explode in joy. Someone's acknowledged me as a friend! It's Troy Bolton, my crush, no less! Wait, did I just say 'my crush?' Whoa, there, Gabriella. You've only recently reached friend, no need to get too excited.

Uncertain how to handle this, I ask dumbly, "You're sure you're not just hanging out with me for amusement? The crazy girl who believes in ghosts?"

"No, of course not. Why would I do that? I like talking with you because you're genuine, and I can just be myself around you. And I believe in ghosts, too, now. Are you calling me crazy?"

I smile. "We'll be insane together."

God, his gaze is intense. "Deal."

Sighing, I twiddle my thumbs. "But I need to find one specific ghost and apologize."

"It wasn't entirely your fault. You two girls just let your emotions get the best of you for a bit. She'll cool down and come back."

"Yeah," I mumble. But what if she's regained her memory already? She won't return then, not after realizing she dosen't actually like me. So how does that work? I'm counting her being able to remember for me to help her, but if she does remember, she won't want anything from me.