Hi.

So.

How's life?

Sorry it's been another eternity.

"Troy!" I could have sworn I heard my name in the densely populated hallways, but the voice was so sickly familiar, I felt like spinning on the heel of my sneaker and sprinting off in the other direction. Just like when we were small. "Troy!" My name was foreign yet overused on her lips. As the mass of students became sparse, their whispers became louder, and I couldn't stop myself from proceeding forward.

"What the heck is she doing?..."

"She's so dramatic..."

"Why does she want Troy?"

My stomach dropped at my name. They were talking about me. And at the word choice of 'dramatic', I knew they were also speaking about Sharpay . My steps agaist the hallway floors came faster, and I finally noticed a cluster of onlooking students near the door of the music room.

"He must be so embarrassed..."

"Who wouldn't be?..."

Everything finally came into view, and My breath caught in my throat at the sight. Six years ago, this same girl forced me to hide in my bathroom. In the fifth grade, she pulled a girl into a head lock, fighting over me. And her next move seemed just as desperate, just as attention-grabbing. Was this the reason why I was so curious about her? Sharpay Evans comfortably sat against the oak doors of the choir room, one silver handcuff linked to her wrist, and the other around the door knob. She looked up from her lap and smiled at me.

This was the part where I run away like a little kid. But instead, a question rose out of my throat. "What are you doing?" I choked. A crowd formed around us, immersing themselves in the unfolding drama. Sharpay smiled even wider.

"I'm saving the music, Troy." she said softly. "Please. Please sit with me..." My eyes widened in embarrassment. I shook my head and took a step back from her. After a long phase of pretending I didn't exist, Sharpay was becoming her old bossy, know-it-all self again. But I didn't want to accept it. "Come on, Troy..." she urged. The gazes of my peers fell on me, wondering what their superstar's next move would be. But it all went unnoticed as out principal stormed down the hallway angrily. He didn't stop to ask questions, he just painfully crumpled to his knees in front of Sharpay.

"The key, Ms. Evans." he pressed.

"I'm sorry?" A tiny innocent smile came to Sharpay's lips. A smile for a little girl.

"The key to your handcuffs." he answered impatiently. He glanced over his shoulder, finally noticing the crowd of students. "Back to your classes..." he sang in an annoyed voice, and the group very slowly, but surely began to disperse. Over my shoulder on my way to English, I heard the principal continue to interrogate Sharpay. "Do I have to bring in security, Sharpay?"

"Go ahead." she gave a soft laugh. The squeak of loafers on tile followed, and the hallways were empty. I peered around the corner from the next hall to see Sharpay peacefully sitting against the door, with a powerful fire still trying to ignite in her brown eyes. Under normal circumstances, I would have turned around and continued on to class, but the way the afternoon sun struck hre golden hair, and the way she nervously crossed her legs at the ankles gave me the urge to crawl towards her and finally let curiosity take over...

"Sharpay!" A shout came in the other direction, and Jason had taken the spot where our principal just was. "What... what are you doing?" he laughed, giving her sympathetic eyes. "I haven't known you for a very long time, but you've never done something like this." But Sharpay just looked to him and honestly answered. A silence came before her thoughtful answer.

"You know what, Jason?" she paused, and sniffles came. "I... I think for once in a very long time, I'm just being me." Her words held such relief, like she had been holding them in since the moment she had been told to change. From the next hallway, I could still see something new fill Sharpay's eyes. Forgiveness. Weakness. I turned as silence filled the hallways, just to see the girl that once chased after me being wrapped in the comfort of the new kid. The one that didn't even have to work for her affection. The one that had me beaten. It finally struck me. It finally hurt.

"Did you see the paper, Troy?" My mother's voice filled one of my ears. "Sharpay..." But her next words seemed like endless blah, blah, blahs. She had said the word Sharpay. "Troy? Did you hear me?" she slapped the front page in front of me at the breakfast table, and my eyes immediately met Sharpay's black and white photo. Teen Protests for Musical Rights. The article itself didn't really matter to me, but her smile filled the page. A few lines were typed under her picture. Eighth grade Sharpay Evans handcuffed herself to the middle school's music room door... No matter how hard I tried to read the article itself, I found myself looking back to her picture.

And I suddenly knew.

This just wasn't curiosity anymore.

I nervously pressed my finger to the unfamiliar doorbell then stuffed my hands in my pockets. A door swung open. A familiar face popped out. "Hey, Troy." A voice answered nonchalantly.

I skipped greetings. "I don't think I've ever admitted to this, but... I think I need your help. It... it's about Sharpay, Jason."

Gasp! Gasp! Gasp! Troy Bolton? THE Troy Bolton actually needs... HELP? You've GOT to stick around. Seriously. Review!