7.

Dammit. The school year has never ended so suddenly.

I honestly think I should have been disciplined more as a child. Maybe I needed to be grounded a couple more times. Perhaps even gotten a spanking. Because then I wouldn't be lying to both parents about my whereabouts for this summer, falsely claiming that I'm someone else to several good-hearted strangers, and helping Sharpay Evans convince her family that she really is going to change.

I wouldn't be trotting through this Chicago airport, shooting nervous looks over my shoulder every ten seconds to make sure no one's caught us yet.

Sharpay, meanwhile, eagerly skips alongside me. "Hurry, Gabi, you're going to miss your flight--well, it was originally my flight, but it's not anymore because you're the bestest friend in all of America!" she squeals, delirious with joy.

Petrified, I pick up my pace and pull my rolling, carry-on luggage behind me. "Oh, no, I'm so late. I'll never make it!"

She follows, scurrying effortlessly even in heels. "If you didn't panic and have that breakdown in the restroom earlier, you'd be on time, you know."

I pant, "You never had to reapply my make-up, either!"

"I just want you to have a good first impression on my relatives!"

Groaning, I keep my eyes peeled for Gate B14.

Sharpay is admiring some souvenir shops while jogging. She has two hours until Zeke will join her and their flight will take off because it'd be suspicious to her parents if she didn't enter the airport at the time the plane they think she'd be on leaves. You can take the girl out shopping mall, but you can't take the shopping mall out of the girl.

"Attention all passengers: American Airlines flight 139 is now boarding at gate B14 for Albuquerque, New Mexico. Please have your passports and boarding passes ready."

Thankfully, the gate comes into view. I hurry over to the line of awaiting travellers. "Bye, Sharpay!" I yell. No, that's not what I wanted to say. I wanted to tell her I'd be heading straight back home and she could deal with her troubles by herself.

"Bye, Gabriella! Thank you so much! You'll have a great time," she responds, giddy.

"Wait, Shar," I call, "what are their names?"

Sharpay dismisses me with a wave of her hand. "I'm sure they'll introduce themselves. I can't really remember what my dad told me they were, anyway. Bye, Gabi! Have fun! Be daring! Tootles!"

Then she excitedly spins on her heels with an everything-is-falling-into-place smile on her lips and clear, Caribbean dreams in her mind.

8.

Everyone has boarded the plan, but we're still stationary. Something about the runway needing to be cleared first.

The guy sitting next to me is sporting Donald Trump hair, is wearing a black suit and has a briefcase sitting at his feet. I attempt small talk. "The weather's nice for flying...isn't it?"

"Sure," he replies, indifferent. Before I can voice another word, he pulls out a newspaper and earphones. All right then.

A flight attendant strolls by. Oh, no. She's stopping at my aisle. "Excuse me, miss." Oh, no. She's about to inform me, 'Your mother called. She knows everything. You're not living to see your seventeenth birthday,' but instead, she says, "Can you put on your seat belt? You can take it off once we've reached a comfortable flying altitude and the captain has turned the seat belt sign off."

"Of course! I'm sorry." Flustered, I fumble around, searching for the buckle of my seatbelt.

I look to my right. It appears Introverted Business Man has sat on it. Then I hear him passing gas. Oh, wonderful. Breathing through my mouth, I tap him on the shoulder and awkwardly gesture downwards. "I'm sorry to bother you, sir, but can I have my seat belt? You're sitting on it."

He huffs impatiently and retrieves it for me. "Here."

"Thank you," I say quietly, as he plops the buckle onto my hand. Gross, it's warm. Grosser, it'll be on my lap for the duration of the ride.

A flight attendant goes over safety procedures. Frightening images of crash landings trickle through my thoughts.

To distract myself, I try to imagine what Sharpay's cousin will look like. Maybe an average looking guy, since I can't see anyone related to Sharpay Evans being a total nerd. How about blond hair and brown eyes, just like her? I'm picturing Ryan in my head. But appearance won't make a difference, because all I wish is that he'll be friendly and welcoming.

Minutes later, we're finally we're moving. A slow pace at first, but then we're racing down the runway, my heart beating at a speed to match the aircraft's. Something's shrieking. Good, it's the engines, not me. The plane ascends. I reach for the barf bag for good measure (Farting Business Man shuffles uncomfortably) and glance out the small, round window to see the airport getting tinier and tinier before it disappears beneath the clouds.

My ears are clogging up. Hold on, is that supposed to happen?

9.

It's okay. I'm fine for now. According to the captain, (who I'm sure has been flying for a while now, with lots of experience) we're about halfway there.

Also, my ears are on the verge of exploding, but I'm attempting to ignore that.

10.

The Albuquerque sunshine feels warm on my face. Licking my dry lips, I taste hope. Or it might be the salted peanuts from the flight. Who really knows?

I stride along with a crowd of other passengers who I've recently exited the plane with. They disperse and some have people who greet them, welcoming the tired travellers home or to their new destination.

I gulp, having no clue where to go. My fingers clasp and unclasp the handle of my bag.

I stand there like an idiot until I see a family holding a large, white sign that says 'Sharpay Evans' in chunky lettering. They look stunned as I approach them, but eventually conclude I'm their never-seen-before relative. Goodness, they're all beaming, so I force a smile, too. It comes out shy and uncertain, but if I'm lucky, from far away it might pass as eagerness.

Standing close to each other and looking precious, the Boltons are like those friendly families you see in movies, except that they aren't paid actors who win Oscars.

"Hi, um," I stammer, "uh, I'm Sharpay Evans."

"Oh, my, it's so nice to finally meet you, Sharpay. I'm your Aunt Lucille." She plops the sign in her husband's arms and hugs me. "Welcome to Albuquerque. I hope you enjoy this summer with us."

"Nice to meet you, too, Aunt Lucille," I gulp, hesitantly hugging her back. It would be less awkward if we were actually related.

"I'm Jack," the guy who's supposed to be my uncle says. He decides to shake my hand.

"Hi, Uncle Jack."

I turn to their son.

Oh, it's not Ryan Evans--it's Gorgeous. Gorgeous is wearing blue jeans with a red and white baseball shirt. He has the most handsome features I've ever seen, and his chestnut locks catch the sunlight beautifully in an inhuman way. Yes, Gorgeous isn't from this world, not with those eyes, anyway. They're the glorious blue that covers the sky on a day that promises happiness.

"Hello..." I start, then trail off.

He simply stares at me, no longer smiling. "You can't remember my name, can you?" I'm silent and wide-eyed. His voice has a tincture of annoyance. "Your dad must mentioned it to you at some point."

So, he's stereotyped the rich girl as uncaring and snobby, hasn't he? "I'm sorry. Um, it was an exhausting flight and, uh, your name accidentally slipped from my mind," I try to explain.

"Troy," his dad warns him, "be nice. She's your cousin."

"I really am sorry, Troy. I didn't mean to forget." It's not like he knows my real name either, though.

"Okay, Sharpay, let's go to the baggage claim to collect your belongings," Lucille changes the topic, already heading off.

It takes a moment too long for me to react; I'll have to learn to start responding to my new name now. "Yes, let's go," I titter, blushing.

Huge bags slide onto the luggage carousel from a chute. I wait patiently for two hot pink ones containing my clothes and personal items to appear; Sharpay lent me them, since I didn't own any myself.

Jack inquires, "How are your parents and Ryan, Sharpay?"

I reply, "They're doing very well."

"What's your mother's name?" asks Lucille, curious.

I consider using Sharpay's real mother's name, Derby Evans, but I use my mom's name to better explain my lack of resemblance to Mr. Evans. "Maria Montez, well, Maria Evans now."

"Do you have pictures of your family? Of your childhood? We'd love to see them! We haven't seen Ryan yet at all. It's too bad he couldn't visit as well since he's at a Performing Arts camp. I was going to ask your dad, but I think your parents will be unreachable for the summer. He told me that he and your mother needed a break from their hectic work schedules and decided to go vacationing without Internet access or phones to distract them. Oh, you know what? I have some of Troy's pictures when he was young to share with you!"

"Mo-om," a slouching Troy groans from the airport bench.

"It's okay, Aunt Lucille, I'd rather have his permission," I say. Troy looks surprised at my response.

"Oh, you're too nice," she chuckles. "But all right. If you ever change your mind, I can always pull them out whenever you want." She winks, and I giggle. Then we resume the wait.

Ten silent minutes pass, but nothing shows up. Antsy, I watch the other people recognize their luggage and heave it off of the machine.

Lucille asks, "What do your bags look like, dear?"

"They're pink and very noticeable," I answer.

Troy sighs irritably then begins pacing. I feel guilty for making them wait, but I checked the sign, and it said the baggage on the flight from Chicago is supposed to be here. Unless it got stolen, that is. I scan the airport for anyone with anything pink, only to find dull colors everywhere.

We ask around for help, yet it's repeatedly confirmed that we're waiting in the right place.

We stay for at least an hour, and with every minute that passes, Troy looks as though he's getting that much closer to simply jetting off on his own. I, the out-of-the-blue cousin, probably inconvenienced his summer plans in some way. But if he was going to be this begrudging to meet his relative, then he should have stayed home.

All of a sudden, I start feeling self-conscious, because if Sharpay was actually here, she would have charmed everyone and had them laughing through this wait with her charismatic self. Now I feel like a girl who just exists to occupy space and take up other people's time.

I glance over again at the blue-eyed boy. Still frowning. Hopefully, we won't frequently cross each other's paths these next two months.

Troy's mother questions, "Sharpay, you didn't...purposely leave your belongings at home, did you? This isn't a ploy to buy new things?"

"No, of course not!"

"Sorry, that was rude of me. It's just that your father warned me that sometimes..."

"It's okay. I'm genuinely trying to turn over a new leaf, Aunt Lucille." I manage a convincing grin.

She smiles warmly. "It's good for you to sound so determined." Sharpay's father must have made it seem to them as though she was extremely addicted to shopping to the point where she was almost incorrigible. So he was pretty accurate then.

I sigh. This freaking luggage better show up soon. I'm dying for a shower and a nap; my hair is greasy and my eyelids are drooping. In addition to that, my ears are still somewhat blocked. With never having any airplane experience, I don't know how to fix it either. All the sounds are muffled, and it feels like there's unknown matter jammed deep inside my ears.

An aged Spanish tourist approaches us, appearing lost. He makes eye contact with Jack and says, "¿Habla usted español?"

Jack scratches the back of his neck, but Lucille is delighted. She tells me, "None of us can speak Spanish, but my brother told me all about your Spanish marks, and he's so proud of you. Do you and your mother converse in Spanish sometimes? Since you're fluent in the language, maybe you can help this man out!" I notice that when she gets excited, Mrs. Bolton can really ramble.

I clear my throat. How do I get out of this one? "Um..." Interrupting myself, I sneeze.

"Salud," he says.

Salud. That sounds somewhat like 'salut,' which in French means 'hi.' It's odd because 'salut' is informal, and I was taught not to use it with strangers. But if he insists. "Salud," I say back, hoping the two languages are similar. Hey, if lune and luna both mean moon in French and Spanish respectively...

He raises an eyebrow, confused. Great.

I rack my brain, trying to think of a Spanish phrase that could be buried somewhere in my memory that could help me out right now. What did I always used to tell my grandmother when she visited? "No hablo español," I quickly answer in a lowered tone so no one but him can hear me.

"Gracias de todas maneras," he sighs, nods, and wanders away.

"What did you tell him?" Jack questions.

"Uh, that...the restrooms were to his right."

"If you have free time, you can teach Troy Spanish. I keep telling him he should learn a second language, anyway. We'll pay you for your services," Lucille suggests. "Just as long as you spend your earnings in moderation," she catches herself.

I decline her offer, "Actually, I'm not a very good teacher. It wouldn't be a good idea."

"Nonsense, the boy knows squat. Anything will help," Jack says.

"I'm right here, dad." Troy rolls his eyes. "Sure, my parent's newly discovered niece pops out from nowhere, and then, suddenly, I get picked on?"

Amused, Jack shakes his head. "You know I'm joking, son. Besides, you are taking Spanish next year, and it'd be perfect if Sharpay helps since you need a good mark to stay on the basketball team."

"You play basketball?" I ask the impatient teenager.

"Yeah, I was captain of the varsity team last year. We won the championship. Do you play?" I'm stunned that he's really speaking to me directly, but sports can get a lot of guys to talk. Go figure.

"No, I don't," I answer. Even if I did, there's no way I'd say yes, as I'd probably be invited to join a game. And there's no way I'm going against all that muscle. But what nice muscles they are. I wonder if Albuquerque gets hot enough in the summer--by hot enough, I mean a temperature at which one would discard their shirt to prevent overheating. Not that I would drool or anything. He does think that I'm his cousin.

11.

It concerns me when my stuff has yet to show up. I recognize no one from the plane; they've all found their luggage. I frown, looking around again for potential thieves or anything suspicious. Maybe security was suspicious about the coloring of the bags, thinking no one in their right mind would own luggage that pink, and they're dissecting them at this moment to look for hidden bombs.

Lucille and Jack have been watch-checking and toe-tapping all this time, and I curse the airplane company for worsening my first impression on them.

"Sharpay, honey," Lucille chimes apologetically, "Jack and I are so sorry, but we weren't expecting to be running this late. You see, we have dentist appointments in twenty mintutes, which is the time it takes to get from here to his office. We honestly didn't mean to book our appointments on the date of your arrival, but it was the only opening for weeks. The times were far apart, so we figured you'd be settled in at our house right now, with Troy at home with you, too, and then you kids would have some bonding time."

"Oh, it's all right. I'm fine here, since I can wait for my stuff and call a taxi if you give me the address to your house. If I get there before you, I can stay outside until you come home and unlock the door," I reasure her, adding in the last part to subtly inquire if she had a spare set of keys for me.

"Nonsense!" she exclaims. "Troy will drive you home, and he has his own keys. Troy, you did bring them, right?" He nods, half-hearted. "We actually came here with two cars. Your father saw how much you packed and notified us beforehand so we would be prepared. I'm positive it will all fit in Troy's truck, though. It's pretty big."

"I think he was exaggerating. I only have two bags. They're quite hefty, but not too large that they wouldn't fit in one vehicle," I say.

"It's final then!" Jack beams. "Troy will bring you home, and Lucille and I will join you once our appointments are over."

I shake my head. "But I really can take a taxi. I've made Troy wait long enough."

"Don't be silly, Sharpay," Lucille says warningly. "He will be a gentleman and not leave you alone. So I guess Jack and I will be off now. Again, we're really sorry, but we'll see you later. Bye, honey."

"Bye, Aunt Lucille and Uncle Jack. Thank-you for staying around for as long as you did."

I receive parting hugs from both of them.

Once they've left, Troy shoves his hands into his pockets and raises an eyebrow. "So, Sharpay, huh? Are you named after anything? I've been curious to know ever since I found out you existed."

He's standing there nonchalantly and smirking, like he thinks he's better off than I am.

I figure I can play around with this and have fun because I'm posing as Sharpay, and Gabriella won't be the one sounding like a weirdo if this story is proved wrong.

Straight-faced, I explain to him, "When my mother was pregnant, she tripped in the middle of a road and was having trouble getting up. An oncoming car with a distracted driver was about to hit her when a Shar Pei dog came running and barking, successfully alerting the man inside to stop just in time. That Shar Pei probably saved my life, as well as my twin brother's and my mom's. She perceived it as a sign, so she decided to name me after the breed, as my brother was given its actual name, Ryan."

Then I muffle a giggle with my hand. That was completely improvised, and I'm surprisingly proud of myself for creating something somewhat believable.

"Oh, wow, what a back story," he says, sounding shocked.

"It's pretty cool," I agree. Then I clear my throat. "Um, Troy, I'm going to go to the information desk again to see if there's any news about my missing luggage."

Before receiving a reply, I walk away. The lady at the desk informs me they've finally tracked my bags down, and they're late because they didn't make the flight and were on the next trip from Chicago to Albuquerque, which was arriving in approximately ten more minutes. I share this with Troy.

When I'm finished, he queries, "Were you late because you were doing some last minute shopping?"

"No." I narrow my eyes. "My shopping addiction is not that extreme, and you don't have to assume it is."

"Hey, I'm just trying to get to know you, cuz," Troy defends himself.

"I'm not a spoiled brat because I have some issues with spending and my parents are rich. I forgot your name because I've been stressed about his whole ordeal, not because I think I'm better than you or anything. I never meant to make anyone wait, either."

"I never said you were one."

"I've gotten the impression that you aren't too happy about my two-month visit."

"Open arms isn't what you'd usually get when you pop out from nowhere."

"Maybe you should make an effort to get to know me first."

"Fine, okay. You win," he sighs. "I have to admit, though, you aren't as bad as I thought you'd be."

"Uh, thanks?" I divert my eyes to the ground.

"So how was the flight?" Troy asks, finally demonstrating hospitality.

"It was, you know, long and tiring," I reply, "and it made my ears feel messed up."

"You don't know how to clear your ears? I thought you'd have made many trips on your father's private jet by now."

"No more assumptions, remember? And, no, I've never cleared my ears."

"Okay, I'm sorry, Sharpay. Anyway, there are two easy ways you can go about doing this. Either swallow or pinch your nose and blow really hard."

I shoot him a wry look. "Swallowing doesn't work. I think I've done it a few times since exiting the plane."

"Then I guess it's option B."

He could be toying with me, as I'm bound to look like a fool with the second method. Wary, I take his advice, clamping two fingers over my nose and exhaling softly. "Didn't work," I tell him.

"Blow harder," is his response.

I take a deep breath and follow his instruction. Surprisingly, it works, and all the sounds are much more pronounced and coherent now. But, my God, it's a little disorienting. "That was a weird feeling. I'm never doing that again."

Troy chuckles. "What about your flight back?"

I send him a glare. "Right now, I'm just going to live in the moment and not worry about the future." Hm, I think that's the first time I've ever said that sentence.

"Fair enough," he answers. Then he points to the luggage carousel. "Look, bags are starting to come in. Yours are pink, right?"

"Bright pink," I confirm. Much to my delight, two familiar suitcases slide off the conveyor belt and land with a thud on the slanted metal. I sprint towards them, relieved, with Troy following close behind.

He offers, "I'll get them for you." Then he lugs both off of the moving surface almost effortlessly.

"Thank you so much," I tell him, still deliriously happy to be reunited with my belongings.

"No problem."

Everything is going better than expected. I may or may not have expected to be rejected by the Boltons and chased by the police, but maybe I think Sharpay and I can pull this off sans too many complications.

The corners of my lips curve upwards into my own everything-is-falling-into-place smile.


I posted a new Troy/Gabriella oneshot, Under the Sun, if you're interested in reading it. :)