Man, I haven't update in months! Since June? Sorry to any who's still reading. I thought I had nothing left for this story, but you can't control when the next big wave of inspiration will hit, and before I knew it, I was writing again. As always, thanks so much for your kind reviews. It's nice to hear what readers liked or didn't like. :)


12.

I hear three rings, then an inquisitive, "Hello?"

"Um, Gabriella?"

"Sorry, you must have the wrong n--"

"Shar," I hiss quietly," it's me."

"Oh." She pauses. "Wait. Why did you call me Gabriella before?"

I whisper, "Because," into the phone and then check over my shoulder for any eavesdroppers. The neat guest room of the Bolton's house is empty except for the furniture, my unpacked suitcases and me. For good measure, I draw the blinds. Then I sit on the edge of the double bed's corner that's farthest away from the closed door. "I'm supposed to be Sharpay, and it would be weird if someone overheard me talking to another Sharpay." That's me being smart.

"Oh, God," sighs The Real Sharpay Evans, "you are much too paranoid."

I twist the spiral phone cord around my fingers, wishing I had a cell phone to use instead. "Well, how many other people are named Sharpay? It wouldn't be unusual for someone named ... Jessica or Anna or even Gabriella to know someone with the same first name as them. How many people do you know have your name?"

"Actually, I was named after someone, you know, a Hungarian supermodel that my parents befriended on one of their trips," she tells me, matter-of-fact.

"Really?" There goes my Shar Pei theory.

"Yes. So how is everything going so far?" I imagine her stretched out on a beach chair, sipping refreshing iced tea, with Zeke peacefully dozing off in the next seat, while the sun envelopes them in a blanket of warmth. And they're on a white-sand, clear-water, picturesque beach featured in one of those pretty postcards.

I shift in my seat, and I can hear the bed sheets rustle from under me in the stillness of the house. "Um, you know, I don't know. I don't think they suspect anything."

She queries, "Are they nice?"

"Yeah, unbelievably nice. Your aunt and uncle are so sweet that I wish they could actually meet their real niece," I reply, remembering how Lucille genuinely cared for my well-being and comfort.

"Hey, don't you go blabbing to anyone about this, though. No matter how kind they might seem, no one can be trusted with out secret, got it?"

"Of course. You won't be the only one in trouble," I tell her. "Oh, does Zeke know you're actually supposed to be here instead of over there?"

"No ... he's taking a nap right now. He might take this the wrong way and maybe he won't see that I just want what's best for us," Sharpay responds.

"You're afraid he'll think you're a freak and dump you?"

"Gabriella. Zeke has supported me through everything. Don't you dare doubt our relationship."

"Hey, hey, all right," I try calming her down. "I was joking."

"Tell me in more detail about them, my relatives. Patched-up clothing? Straw hats? Cows?"

I muffle my laugh so Troy doesn't hear and think I should be institutionalized. "No, Sharpay. They're just average. Like me."

"Oh," she chirps, but I can tell she was expecting more. "Wait a minute. You can't be 'like you' anymore, Gabs. Be me. Try to have some more confidence in yourself and act as though you do have three closets of designer clothes."

I purse my lips. She could house three small families in each of those closets. They'd be clothed for a lifetime. "All right, I'll try ... But wouldn't you want them to think you've had a change of heart and stopped impulsively spending?"

"Well, sure. But you should have a smooth transition, you know?"

"Yeah, you're right. Do you think they planned to make you get a job? I've never applied for one anywhere." And my resume I once made for my Careers class in last year was pathetic. My skills and achievements wouldn't even match up with what Sharpay's supposed to have, anyway.

I wait for my friend to ponder this. "Probably," she says. "It's reasonable. I wouldn't be surprised if my dad suggested it."

"Oh, my God. Shar, what if I have to pay for my own meals? And rent!"

"No, no. Don't be silly; they think you're family. I know you, Gabriella Montez. You're going to freak out about this incessantly." Sharpay now has this stern, you-better-stay-on-task tone. "But you can't or else you might get too flustered and blow our cover."

I furrow my brow, uncertain once again. "I'll do my best to stay calm."

Softly, she adds, "Stay sane, all right? Don't be Gabriella the worrier. You even told be that you thought this would help you out. I know I've asked you to do this huge favour for me, and I really appreciate that you've accepted, but I don't want to come home to a jittery, traumatised best friend, okay?" I can hear the smile in her voice.

"Okay."

"I have to go, but call me every once in a while. And one more thing, it's best you don't get ... too acquainted with them. You'll be so sweet that they can't help but love you and they'll consider inviting the whole Evans family over for another summer. I don't think you'll enjoy two months of my parents and Ryan."

I giggle. "Got it, Shar. Thanks."

"Have fun over there, Gabs. Remember what I've told you!"

"You, too. Don't forget to put on sunscreen!" And because sometimes I love to tease her, I say cheekily, "And use protection!"

Right after I press the End Call button on the receiver, Troy knocks on the door. I stand up and pad across the room to open it slightly, just enough so he can see me.

He has his hands in his pockets and monotonously asks, "How's the unpacking going?" It's a nice effort to appear more welcoming.

My head whips around to see my two untouched suitcases that I shoved in one corner of the room before lunging for the phone to call Sharpay. I use my foot to subtly push the door a little bit more his way.

"Need any help?" He cocks an eyebrow.

Shar was kind enough to lend me some of her old designer clothes to replace the ones I've fished for on the sale rack that are still in my closet back home. I'm sure he'd laugh at some of the sequined outfits she stuffed in there despite my protests. "No, I'm fine." Smiling, I continue, "But thanks for the offer. I'll just be done it a bit."

"Is there enough room in there for our belongings?"

I huff. I thought he understood my spoiled-ness wasn't as extreme as he thought it was at the airport. "Yes, there's plenty."

He grins. "Just joking with you, Sharpay. So, anyway, if you don't mind me interrupting your unpacking, want a tour of the house? I only showed you where your room was and you scampered in there so fast after asking me if you could use the phone."

My cheeks turning pink, I say, "Okay, I'll just resume it later."

"Who did you need to call that urgently? I thought your parents didn't want to be disturbed on their vacation," he says as he leads me to the hallway.

"Oh, just my friend from Chicago."

Troy points to a small room just next to mine. "Here's the bathroom. You'll have to share with me, since, well, this is only a three-bathroom house, and the one downstairs doesn't have a shower. The other one's my parents'."

I'm noncommittal because I have to make it seem like I've grown up in a ten-bathroom mansion all my life. Boi even has his own, with a custom-made dog toilet and a personal groomer who comes every once in a while. I giggle softly at the memory of the Yorkie squatting on the lowered and smaller toilet. He definitely learned not to drink from that one. Sharpay had laughed at my shocked expression when I witnessed her dog's marvellous house-training for the first time.

"What are you laughing about?" He stares at me, dumbfounded. "Lots of people only have a few bathrooms."

I'm blushing again. I've got to learn to control that. "Oh, nothing, sorry. Just a memory."

He quizzically eyes me before gesturing to the next door. "Okay, then. My room is here."

The door is closed. "I can't see inside?"

"It's messy; we don't have maids or housekeepers or anything like that. I was supposed to clean it before you came, but I never got around to doing it," he admits, scratching the back of his neck.

It's pretty redundant hearing Troy explain the middle-class lifestyle, but his voice is too velvety and heart-melting to inform him, "I know, I've been to my friends' houses before and I know they don't have as much as I do," like Sharpay might say if she wanted him to shut up.

I follow him down the hall where he shows me the master bedroom, where his parents sleep. When I was ten, the master bedroom was just my mom's, then there was my room and in the basement was my dad's couch.

He snaps me out of reminiscing as he motions for me to go downstairs. The family room is painted a deep brown with warm-coloured furniture and drapes. Against one of the walls is a television, and against the opposite one is a couch.

There's also framed pictures on the walls, windows to the Bolton's memories. One of them is a photo of Jack and Lucille's wedding day. Just from their smiles, I can tell that Mr. and Mrs. Evans missed out when they didn't attend. There are family portraits, but a lot are just of Troy. I watch him grow up in a matter of seconds as I scan each photo. Some are from school, others are him playing basketball. I find the pictures of a younger Troy especially cute, and I tell him this.

"Thanks," he replies. "Yeah, my parents really like taking pictures, preserving moments forever and all that."

"But that's great! I wish I had more pictures of myself when I was young."

"You don't?" He seems confused at first but then he grins. "What, did they favour Ryan more or something?"

Suddenly I'm reminded that I am Sharpay Evans with parents who would hire a dozen professional photographers for every birthday, graduation and special event. "Um, my parents really like paintings. Ryan and I usually got painted instead of photographs, and I, um, just felt the artist didn't do me justice."

"Right, of course," he says. "So over there is the kitchen."

Troy leads me to marble counter tops, a steel refrigerator and cherry-wood cabinets. Now this is a kitchen Zeke would drool over. "I don't know how this works at your house, but my mom likes to eat breakfast together as a family, so make sure to be down by 7:00 am. She was a bit lenient during the school year when I had to leave early for basketball practice, but it's summer now."

"No sleeping in?" I find myself musing.

He chuckles. "Sorry, princess. We do it differently over here."

"Well, anyway, you have a very nice home. Thanks for showing me around."

"No problem," he says.

The Bolton house is larger than mine is, but cosier and more inviting.

"Hey, Troy?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you, uh, getting a job this summer?" After seeing the kitchen, I've been wondering if I'm going to be served food for free ... or not.

"A job? I want to, but the job hunt has been unsuccessful so far. I'm saving up for a car."

I almost said cool and asked him how much he had, but then he might take it the wrong way and think I was rubbing it in his face that I had more money.

He questions, "Why? Have you ever worked?"

I shake my head and wring my hands behind my back. "No, not really."

"Never had to do chores either, huh?"

God, what is with this boy and asking questions he already knows the answers to? Wait. Darn. I think I'm the one who told him to stop assuming and find out the truth straight from my mouth. "We have a lot of help around my house. They get paid well."

"I hate to break it to you, Sharpay, but you'll have chores here. Keep your room tidy, make us dinner, set the table, wash the dishes, do the laundry, polish the floors--everyday--and you'll keep my parents happy."

My jaw drops open. "All of that?"

Part of me knew he had to be joking, but it was worth the fake shock to hear Troy's laugh. "Nah, you'll just help us with everything. We weren't expecting to house a Cinderella for the whole summer. Sound good?"

"Yeah, sounds a lot better." I grin.

We amble upstairs and Troy asks, "You sure you don't need any help unpacking?"

"I'm good," I say. "Can I please see your room?"

"Why? There's nothing very interesting in there." As we reach the second floor, Troy intentionally stands between his door and me.

I answer, "I think someone's room tells a lot about the person."

"You won't even let me help you unpack."

"You still know that I'm rich, spoiled and that I've never touched a cleaning utensil in my life among other things. I only really know that you like basketball. Come on, Troy. Please?"

"Nope," he refuses nonchalantly.

"Fine then," I huff and pad back to my room. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his retreating back, heading downstairs, and that's when I lunge for his doorknob.

"Sharpay!" he exclaims, scampering back to pull me away before too much is revealed.

But I've already slammed the door wide open.

We both pause.

Wow. When I said I only knew Troy liked basketball, I shouldn't have expected much more. All his room did was restate the fact over and over again with a basketball lamp in the far corner, a basketball pillow on his bed, basketball players on posters, numerous basketball trophies, more pictures of him playing basketball and a basketball screensaver on his computer.

So it is messy. Clothes strewn everywhere along with some papers, books and trash, but not too far off from what my own room can be like sometimes. Of course he can't know this, though.

He clears his throat from behind me. "Told you."

"Your room is very informative, Troy."

He breaks out a smile and enters the room to stand beside me. "Can you name anyone?" he asks, referring to the basketball legends staring fiercely down at us.

I know as much about basketball as I do about iguanas. "Um, Kobe, LeBron and Gretzky?"

"Got two out of three."

"Ooh, which ones were right?"

Amused, Troy shakes his head. "I think you've seen enough. Now go unpack." He ushers me out the door.

When I get to my room, I open the blinds and unzip my suitcase. I frown at how the some of the sparkly clothing's' sparkles have attached themselves to my only non-sparkly clothing. All the clothes are as flat as a pancake after being packaged so tightly. I find expensive make-up Sharpay's donated to me, which she expects me to wear everyday, and two pairs of four-inch heels. What the hell am I going to do with those?

Digging through everything, I begin feeling the tiniest bit homesick.

Back in Chicago, when Shar wasn't looking, I smuggled in a photograph of the two of us. Hey, if I didn't make any friends here, I didn't want to forget the face of my only one. It was taken about two weeks after we met. Sharpay's pouting her glossed lips and I can see her extended arm that was holding the camera. I'm simply smiling, a bit nervously and a bit lopsided. She even has an arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to make sure I was entirely in the frame.

What am I going to do here other than chores? Does Albuquerque even have any nice tourist spots? Will I leave the house? Will I even be able to leave the house if I can't find anything to wear that's not glittery?

It's not as if I can call Sharpay all the time. The Boltons might shriek when they get their phone bill like Sharpay does when her Dad cuts up one of her credit cards. Plus, she's having the time of her life with Zeke in the Caribbean.

I hope Troy doesn't stop talking to me. He's nice, nicer than I originally thought. And, when he was standing beside me in his room today, I noticed he smelled good, too. I don't know what it is, but it makes me want to keep inhaling until I feel light-headed. But if he gets a summer job with his friends, there's not stopping him from forgetting about me.

If I stayed in Albuquerque, I'd be in a similar situation, alone with nobody, except there, I'd just be the plain old, boring Gabriella. Here I get to be Sharpay who thinks she's queen of the world and no one knows my past.

I have to make the most of this experience, but I have to do it carefully. I didn't have a lot to start with, but I'm risking it all, like I wanted to in the first place. But now it's not just humiliating myself in front of my math class. If I fail, Sharpay will hate me, the school will find out and my parents would be so disgraced.

I'll be shit out of luck if I end up with nothing but air to breathe, keeping me alive so I can live through the repercussions.


I just wanted to update this before I left on my trip on Wednesday. (I'm headed off to Australia! Thank goodness it's warm over there.) Reviews are greatly appreciated! Check my profile if you want a snippet of chapter five. :)