A/N: Kind of a filler for you. Not very long so don't expect much. Just a little Troy-boy point of view for you. Enjoy.
Chapter Three
Troy Bolton was a follower of some sorts. He is a leader in the way that everyone looks to him to shoot the winning goal or hook up with the hottest girl. Even with all of that, he still is a follower.
He hasn't made his own decision in a long time now. Troy felt like a puppet; he was being pulled this way and that.
Troy followed what the crowd wanted him to do.
He once had tried to show one of his poems to his basketball friends. Troy loved to write, and it would be nice for once if people could see that.
"You write?" his 'friend' asked rudely. Troy panicked. He did not want people thinking he was a freak.
"Nah," Troy said nonchalantly. "I got one of the braniacs to do it for me." After that, his friend grinned admiringly and bumped fists with him.
He was wearing a mask.
The only person he felt that he could take off the mask with was Gabriella.
Troy sighed sadly.
Poor Gabriella. She was always there for him when he had needed a hand, and he had abandoned her. Instead, he looked at her coldly and held his head high.
Troy was disgusted with himself.
He remembered just before she walked out, she looked at him. His hope turned to despair, as he knew what she was thinking right then and there.
She would never forgive him.
Troy looked out of the corner of his eye to look at her writing furiously on the quiz on A Tale of Two Cities that they were supposed to be taking. He looked down at his almost empty quiz and exhaled; he couldn't even concentrate. All he could see was Troy's upset eyes when she walked in the room, and some of the people in class had snickered. She looked tired and worn. He cringed because he knew he had caused that.
He had caused his best friend pain.
The bell rang, and he sighed frustrated. He definitely failed that quiz, and English was even his favorite subject! Troy got up and handed it to the teacher. Mrs. French looked down at his quiz and looked back up at him disappointedly. He looked down at his Vans. It was a habit of his of whenever a situation had gotten to where he had grown uncomfortable.
"And here I was thinking that you were one of the ones who actually liked the book," she said teasingly but it still held that tone of disappointment. His head snapped up at this statement.
"Of course I like the book," he said a little bit offended. Mrs. French still looked sadly at him.
"Is there something the matter, Troy?" she asked concerned.
"No," he said as his automatic response, robotic like. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just having an off day. I'll be fine." He tried his easy smile on her as if to prove his point, but he didn't think he was very convincing because Mrs. French was still looking at him concerned. She looked down at the stack of papers and sighed; she looked back up at him.
"Are you sure you're all right?" she asked one last time.
He nodded, but he knew that she knew he was lying.
He probably would never be 'alright' ever again.
A/N: Sorry this was so short. Next chapter is double this so I guess it makes up for it.