A/N: Wow, rachrep, thanks so much for the reviews! I really was blown away. And thanks again tons to JohnKrasinskiLover and FeJoy29.

Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or High School Musical or any of these characters except mine.

A human behind me had produced the astounded voice.

I whirled around to see Hunter, his face dulled and the color drained from his skin. He looked terribly sick.

"Get away from Elizabeth," he managed to squeak hoarsely.

"What?" I yelled over the noise. "How do you know her?"

"Eric is one of my best friends," Hunter replied quickly, snatching my arm and pulling me in the other direction. "I'm not stupid. I know your mom is marrying Mr. Wheaton."

"Fuck—how…? How do you know?" I stuttered in disbelief. His fingernails were digging into my skin because he was so damn nervous and fidgety. I wrenched away my arm in annoyance, only to have it yanked back by him. "Answer me!" But he didn't.

"Stay here," he grumbled. "I don't want Elizabeth seeing you. You'll get into fuck loads of trouble. She's the type to tell."

"I don't even know what she's doing here! I mean—she's underage!" I stammered in shock. He simply muffled my voice by covering my mouth with his hand, squeezing my arm and dragging me through the crammed crowd of drunken people.

"As are we," he muttered in a low voice. "Come on now. You're only making it harder for yourself. This can be easy and simple, or difficult and complex. Take your pick. But if you're truly smart, you'll know what's best and you will do what I say."

But I couldn't stop. I was kicking and thrashing around, so utterly desperate to be released from his muscular grip on my feeble arm. It felt like he was going to snap my bone. "Let go of me!" I screamed madly like I was a delusional mental hospital patient. "Let go of me!" But he didn't, only strengthening his rough hold and pushing his way through the dizzy teenagers. Many were staring at me, their eyes wide. I didn't care. I just wanted Hunter to let go of me. And now. "Fucking let go!" I hollered frantically again, my sore voice becoming rather croaky, as it was so dry from yelling.

He whipped me around violently, his rigid hand still grasping my arm firmly. I winced at the painful burning sensation his nails sinking into my skin caused. I stared down at my feet, willing to do absolutely anything to avoid his unsettling, cruelly discomforting gaze. I could feel his fixed eyes boiling at the sight of me, total smart-ass, boring into my limp image in aggressive determination.

"Look at me," he stated harshly, his words jumbling jagged from his mouth and slicing through my skin sharper than his fingernails. And when I didn't obey, his grip only increased to a more unbearable point. "Look at me," he ordered coldly, his now dark navy blue eyes spiraling down threateningly at me. But I didn't give in to his demand. I continued watching my feet and the floor, dismissing his wicked glare.

Who fucking was this guy? It was scaring the shit out of me. I don't think I'd ever been this terrified in my entire pathetic life. I couldn't let him control me—couldn't let him steal my voice and power of myself—

He jerked my arm upwards, causing my head to bob up suddenly against my will and incline up to meet his misted eyes. I gasped aloud in frightened astonishment at what I witnessed dangerously brewing in them; the hardness and still of them made me suddenly break down into tears, collapsing on the ground in a pitiful heap and sobbing my fucking heart out.

I didn't know what had so suddenly come over me, but something had, and it was serious. I had never seen him look to horrifyingly scary; so unforgettably haunting. I was trembling on the floor uncontrollably, my mind flooded with petrifying pictures of his stone, expressionless face.

"Hunter…" I choked between sobs. "Hunter…I miss you…the old you…where a-are you?" I was speaking more to myself than anyone, not noticing anyone around me. I was encased in my own little lonely world, and no one could get in. No one had in the longest time. And I knew it would continue to be that way.

You know you are officially crazy when you start talking to yourself.

At least, that's what did it for me.

"The geometry test really wasn't as hard as I thought it would be, and I think I did good, you know? Problem fourteen was a killer, and I totally guessed, but I think I still could have gotten it right. But then again problem twenty was worse, don't you think? I mean, there wasn't enough information in the prompt! Or was there? I don't know, but either way, I know I got that one wrong…" I rambled on to myself as I doodled in my notebook, my mind rather absent, trying to focus on other things besides the one worry that was itching to be thought out.

I suddenly stopped moving my ballpoint pen, my hand falling idle and the writing utensil dropping aimlessly into my lap. My eyes developed a hazy fix to them, blanked out completely. My voice was softer and hesitant as I whispered my next heart-hurting words, "Mom and Dad have been fighting a lot lately." I hugged my knees, pressing my legs against myself anxiously. "It's scaring me. God, it's scaring me." Tears erupted behind my eyelids, making my eyes simmer from the heat, but I refused to let them slip.

I was shivering hopelessly in the dark, shadowed janitor's closet. There were ragged mops leaning lazily on the walls, plastic pails and monster-sized buckets strewn carelessly about the small quarter. Worn, holey sponges were stacked sloppily on one wooden shelf, paper towel rolls stuffed hastily in the back of another, and containers of citrus-smelling floor soap lined the tiled floor. I was currently crumpled up on one of the larger buckets, my tiny body more than just able to fit in its space.

"Do you think God forgets people sometimes?" I croaked out hoarsely, my brown eyes positively on fire as they strained themselves to hold back hot tears. "Because I really think He forgot me."

But then I couldn't take it; and I was just wailing, completely bawling, like an immature baby, on that stupid oversized bucket.

God really didn't care about me. If God really loved me, He would give me an A on that geometry test. If God really loved me, he would make the soup of the day chicken noodle at lunch. But there were bigger, more important things that mattered more. Things I cared about more. If God really loved me, I wouldn't be alone right now, nothing to do free period and no friends. If God really loved me, He would make my parents stop fighting. If God really loved me, He would change my mom's job so we wouldn't have to move around so much.

And I said the last one aloud, my voice low and soaked with sadness, "If God really loved me, He would give me a reason to live."

And it was true. What was I living for? What was I waiting for? There was nothing to gain; nothing to lose. So much to learn; yet so little time. So few choices; so few alternate escape paths. There was nothing, nothing in this world I could do to make it all better. But someone else could. And though that seemed to make even more sense, I knew no one would rescue me. And if someone did, I would be waiting around until eternity for a worthy savior to come by.

My shoulders shook harder with each ground-quaking sob, causing a wild uprising in my body, my stomach churning more furiously with every second. I was going to vomit—I was going to puke in the janitor's closet—

I immediately slapped my hands to my mouth, my eyes anxiously searching for something to throw up in. Soap, mop, sponge, paper towel…bucket! Eureka. I quickly flipped over the bucket I had been sitting on, kneeling down at its side, my chin resting on the plastic rim.

"FUCK!"

The closet door suddenly flew open to reveal a tall, handsome boy who I knew was around my age.

I gulped, feeling the sick rise in my throat, my stomach only contracting more. I felt so queasy…God…but it was Troy Bolton. It was fucking Troy Bolton! There was no fucking way I was going to barf in the presence of the almighty, super Troy Bolton—basketball star, straight-A student—

And then before I knew it, I was gagging, and staring straight down at my breakfast, chewed morsels of waffle swimming around in orange juice. I closed my eyes briefly, not believing what had just happened. The open door let a few welcome rays of light illuminate the black closet, and I slowly lifted my head to look at his surprised face. He was wearing a sort of sour expression, but I knew that was only the result of the foul wretch of the vomit. He was generally a nice guy. At least, from what I had heard.

"You okay?" he asked finally, his voice tentative.

God, his voice sounded wonderful. Just so beautiful, so…amazing. Like his enchanting eyes. And Lord, those were the most hypnotic eyes I had ever encountered. I was entranced for a lovely moment as I stared at him, but I quickly snapped out of the reverie as I answered shortly, "I'm fine." He just stood there at the door, awfully nervous, his arms hanging off of his shoulders at his sides awkwardly, as if he didn't know what in the world to do with them. His adorable little mouth was puckered into a surprised 'o' shape, his mesmerizing eyes open wide.

But he didn't go away. He remained standing there, just watching me.

I threw up two more times. And I was so embarrassed, I almost cried. And later, I learned from him that I had no reason to be embarrassed.

My throat hurt, my head hurt, my stomach hurt—absolutely everything throbbed and ached from crying so much. I couldn't even see anything.

And suddenly, he did the opposite of what he had done in my memory, the opposite of what I had expected—he held me. I felt his arms drape around my shrunken form, any conscious life having been completely sucked out me. He sat down in the middle of the swarming hallway, gently pulling me into his lap and resting my heavy head on his chest.

I had to stay strong…I had to stay strong…but I was much too tired to even move.

"Please," I murmured halfheartedly, for I knew this would not make any difference. "Please, Troy, let me go." He flinched at his real name, only scooting over to the wall and leaning his back on it for support. He pushed me tighter against him, and caving, I shut my weary eyes, just letting myself cascade in his essence. I couldn't fight back. I was too exhausted…too worn…I wanted him. Of course I wanted him. And for just a second, I let my worries go. I could fix it all later. My head was pounding horribly, but I tried my best not to let the pain consume me. That didn't matter. He softly stroked my sweaty hair, pressing his palm to my blazing forehead in concern at its temperature.

"Shh…" he soothed me, whispering calmly in my ear. "Just go to sleep." I snuggled up to his chest, inhaling deeply and practically melting at the enthralling aroma of his familiar cologne. The circular motions of his hand rubbing my back lulled me to deep peace in no time, my breathing finally regulating itself into its former normal rhythm and time.

God…she looks so fucking beautiful sleeping…Troy thought to himself, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. Her dark, brown tendrils were sticky and moist, strands pasted together in bundles, but God, did she look gorgeous. And her marvelous eyes…they looked so relaxed and serene, closed so gently like that, her eyelashes curled up just so slightly. Her nose—it was absolutely perfectly created; and her skin…it was just so baby soft. He just wanted to kiss her. More than anything. He could feel that memorable magnetic force drawing his lips nearer and nearer to hers. It was so unbelievably tempting, but he wasn't stupid. Troy readjusted her in his lap, taking on hand to cradle the base of her head protectively.

"Hunter…" she muttered tiredly under her breath, her eyes still fluttered shut. For a second, Troy's heart lifted at the sound of her voice calling his name. She didn't even sound angry or bothered. She was talking to him like how she used to talk to him. And how much he had missed that.

She's sleep-talking…Troy confirmed for himself, frowning in disappointment. She has no idea what she is saying.

Troy shuddered at her hot exhales flaming his skin, slowly declining his head and pecking a chaste kiss to her hot, damp forehead. "It's all a dream, baby," Troy whispered lovingly, threading his fingers through her hair. "Everything's fine, Gabi."

"I love it when you call me that," she mumbled, barely coherent.

"Shh…" he whispered warmly again, peppering another tender kiss on her neck, the first place he saw. Troy dug his fingers into her corduroys, feeling around for her car keys. He found them, in her back pant pocket, wedged all the way down there. He carefully fished them out, extra careful not to wake her. He dropped the keys into his own pocket, enveloping his arms around her tighter and standing, using the wall as help. He set one arm under her bottom, as if she were just a toddler, the other hand at her head, gently pressing it down to his solid chest.

Where was Elizabeth Wheaton when you needed her for once?

Troy swallowed forcibly, shoving his way impatiently through the lightheaded flock of people, desperately searching for that knowable reddish-blonde head.

Elizabeth Wheaton was the most popular girl in the tenth grade; she was and had always beenthe popular one. The girl that all the boys fell over; the girl all the girls wanted as their biffle. Elizabeth used this to her advantage, hanging out with older people and the populars, and the populars strictly, treating anyone else like pure trash. She had a polluted, negative attitude; she thought she was the best thing that had ever happened to the world. That she was perfect and pretty, and everyone loved her. However, that was nowhere near the case. Anyone above tenth grade easily knew the hidden truth about skanky Elizabeth Wheaton. That is what she did—she went to crazy parties, got wasted out of her mind, and got fucked. She was the biggest slut below the junior grade. And if that's not saying much, she was still probably one of the biggest whores in the whole school. There was not one party she didn't attend. You always saw her there.

And yet Troy must have ventured all over the mansion; everywhere he could think of. She was nowhere to be found. Troy resignedly pushed open the front door of the house, almost falling out onto the expensively sculpted porch and clambering down the steps the best he could while still clutching Gabriella close to his chest, as if she were a treasured trophy.

"Shit," he groaned in a low voice to himself. It had started to drizzle. The droplets of water began to pierce his skin, harder and harder, the sharp feeling making him wince. It wasn't even all rain. To his horror, it was hail. Troy took a deep, greatly needed breath, shielding Gabriella from the pellets of ice. He scanned the street for Gabriella's car, just to verify his suspicion. There was no sign of it. He knew Elizabeth had taken it. Eric had told him how they all had to share one car, and they all had keys to it. It was some thing about Maria and Phillip wanting them to "share and bond kindly."

Troy pressed his lips together, brushing his lips against his ex-girlfriend's cheek in another reassuring kiss. Those kisses were more for himself than for her. He just needed to feel her velvety skin against his; to know she was really there and this was all happening. He had been waiting so long to get his hands on her, and now that it was finally happening, it was just too surreal. It was not how he had planned it. How he had envisioned it. But at least it had happened, and at least he was with her. And that was more than he could ask for.

He trudged over to his own car, unlocking the passenger seat door and carefully seating her wilted, petite body in the seat, gently strapping on her seatbelt. He stared at her for a minute in awe at her serenity and beauty before finally ripping his gaze away reluctantly, sighing as he closed her car door and slid into the driver's seat. He put the car into ignition, praying that the noise wouldn't wake her up. Fortunately, it didn't.

The whole two-hour ride was fairly tranquil. Gabriella barely stirred, and when she did, it was only to readjust her arrangement in the seat. Troy couldn't help but stare at her at every second he got. Traffic? He would stare at her. Red light? He would continue to gaze at her. It was a craving addiction to him; he just couldn't help himself. He hungrily drank in the gorgeous sight of her, taking in every inch of her flawless form. Arresting these infatuated thoughts was not a sane option; they were unstoppable. Troy had never seen Gabriella appear so goddamn beautiful in his life—or even anyone so beautiful in his life. Troy wasn't sure if it was merely the painful lack of absence, but the anxious yearning for her was finally soothing itself.

By the time they arrived at the Wheaton's mansion, it was two in the morning. Troy heaved a tired sigh as he parked the old sputtering truck on the side of the road, gently scooping Gabriella in his arms and placing an affectionate kiss on her steaming forehead. The pinching hail was still pelting through the sky, pricking his skin. He protectively guarded Gabriella the best he could as he scurried through the front door, triple-checking to make sure no one was present. He guessed that Victoria and James were already sleeping. Elizabeth's car hadn't been in the driveway; he figured she might have switched to a different party. That sounded exactly like something she would do. One was never enough in her world.

Troy carefully climbed the sturdy steps to which he supposed was Gabriella's room, for the light, sugary fragrance in the room smelled exactly like her. He softly lied her down on the bed, easing off her shoes and tucking her in under the covers securely. He would have undressed and changed her into her pajamas, but he knew that if he wanted her to trust him, he needed to truly respect her and think on both sides of the conflict. Gabriella was extremely self-conscious, and he needed to acknowledge that truth.

Just as he was about to leave, he jumped in surprise at unexpected angry thunder rumbling outside, brutally racking the earth and disturbing its inhabitants. Lightening flashed madly, the uninvited brightness filling the room through the broad, uncovered windows that lined the walls of Gabriella's beautiful bedroom.

"Troy!" Gabriella suddenly gasped in urgency, shuddering in fright under the blankets. Troy knew more than well that she was absolutely terrified by storms of any kind, his bruised heart absolutely shattering at the sound of her tiny voice so helpless. He immediately rushed over to her bed, poring over her shrunken, horrified self. "I'm scared," she whimpered pitifully, fresh tears brimming her chocolate eyes. "I don't want to be alone. I'm not putting up a fight, because I know it's not worth it. But don't think I've forgiven you, Troy. Lord, I don't even know what's happening, and I'm so confused. But fuck, I can't be alone right now. I just fucking can't."

Troy nodded in complete understanding, not even needing the explanation, quickly dragging her desk chair over to the side of her bed and watching in somewhat sadness as she curled up into a tight ball, her back to him. And yet he just couldn't take his eyes of off her frame, placing his large, warm hand on her shivering back and rubbing smooth, comforting circles like he had just three hours before. He knew from experience that this was one of the few things he could do to calm her down during storms. Every time the loud boom of thunder striking the ground entered her ears, she would moan or whimper and coil herself up even tighter. Troy would sigh in pain, the troubling sight of her so scared and vulnerable making him ache. He began to grow sleepy, but forced his heavy eyes not to droop closed as he continued to rub her back, knowing if he stopped she would erupt in hysterics.

He could hear her crying quietly to herself, his stomach flipping in alarm at the heart-wrenching sound.

"Are you okay?" he whispered hesitantly, his tone soft and patient. Gabriella practically liquefied at the caring nature of his silky voice.

"I'm fine," she whispered forcefully, trying her best to sound confident.

"You sure?" Troy asked again, nowhere near convinced.

"I'm fine." And then faintly and slowly again, "I'm fine."

A/N: I feel really sick today. :( Ugh. Really dizzy. This was the result of boredom, so... I don't know. What it okay? Does it suffice? I know it wasn't the best but I didn't want to make you guys wait.