A/N: I know this is late! Trust me, I know. I hope this will compensate! I know this doesn't have much Troyella interaction, but there are other things that need to be covered too.

Disclaimer: I do not own Disney or High School Musical, or anything affiliated with either one.

Coach Bolton was not in his best mood.

His low voice boomed throughout the East High gymnasium, orders thundering from his mouth.

"STOP RUNNING! YOU CAN TAKE A FIVE-MINUTE BREAK! NOT LIKE YOU EARNED IT!" He heatedly shouted to the varsity basketball team. They were racing around the gym and sweating buckets; literally dripping perspiration like ongoing rain. The nauseating odor in the gymnasium was so unusually horrible that it made them all lightheaded. "I need to get some more basketballs from the storage closet," the coach muttered. "Green, you're in charge." And on that note, he briskly fled the gymnasium. Troy knew, in the back of his mind, that he was seeking some comfort in the alcohol he clandestinely stored in his office.

Jason wiped his sticky brow on his soaked jersey, groaning out in ache. Every part of his body was sore like it had never been before. He groggily leaned his exhausted body backwards to Zeke, who nearly toppled over as a consequence.

"Dude, I think I'm going to faint," Zeke grunted gutturally, just barely coherent. His knees were wobbly with weakness and fatigue. "It's blacking out…my vision is blacking out!" He covered his already closed eyes.

Chad unearthed some strength to slap Zeke sympathetically on the shoulder. He also almost knocked an unstable Zeke to the ground again. "Stop overreacting. You're acting like fucking sissy." Chad stifled his own groans of complaint and gestured to Troy, who was crouched over and trying to breathe correctly. "Isn't he, Troy?"

"Sure," Troy managed to pant out. He clumsily stumbled over to a low bleacher-like bench, collapsing onto it. His crew followed him, reflexively clustering around him.

"Dude, when has your dad been this harsh?" Chad snapped, dropping to sit down next to the basketball star.

Troy didn't answer, running his hands shakily through his drenched chestnut hair, which had separated into strands. He took the other teammates by surprise when he furiously tore off his jersey, haphazardly flinging it behind the bench with a livid, crimson face.

"Is he drinking too much booze again?" Jason prodded casually.

His face was much too close to Troy's, and he was quickly growing claustrophobic.

"Dude, he's not getting enough from Sage, right?" Zeke guessed pressingly.

There was something building in Troy's chest. He wasn't sure what it was, but it was bloating and engorging, and he knew his chest would simply burst soon. "Yeah," Troy huffed. "He's not."

It was true. Over the past two and three weeks, Sage had made less frequent visits. Jack had made less frequent visits to her place. And although Troy was silently triumphantly cheering inside, it also frightened him. His father had been crazier and wilder than he had been before. Now there was this mad bull hidden inside of him, and it took charge whenever his platinum blonde Sage was not around. Troy had a hunch that Sage was seeing someone else; he had heard her cooing to someone on the phone, endearingly calling him "baby." Troy had been able to hear the voice on the other side—not too distinctly, but enough to tell it was a man's voice. As a result of Sage's distance (in more than one way), Jack himself had become more distant. He began to drink more. He would sneak out and riskily gamble at night. He would break things out of anger. And poor Troy was scared out of his mind. Sometimes, during the bleak blackness of the night, Troy would scamper over to the Wheatons' mansion and creep up Gabriella's balcony. She always warmly welcomed him with her arms thrown wide open. No matter what time of the day or night.

"Well, tell him to get more," Chad shrugged dispassionately, his voice still strained and drained.

"Speaking of getting some, are you getting some from Gabriella?" Zeke pried nosily.

All of them—they were in his face! When would these people learn to back away and give him space?

Troy was still panting, although not entirely from the tough workout they had just wrestled.

"Yeah," Troy responded halfheartedly. He took a swig of his nearly empty water bottle.

Their sex was becoming more sporadic as well, but Troy wasn't concerned. Gabriella was so stressed out about her mother, her mother's unborn baby, and her mother's crumbling relationship with Mr. Wheaton. She wasn't in the right mind to have some good sex. Their sex was mostly spur of the moment; whatever scrap of time they had that wasn't filled with Gabriella's sobbing and complaining. Troy did what he had always done—he soothed her reassuringly like every good boyfriend. What else could he do? He never spoke of his own family troubles, and danced around the truth even if he were asked. To say he was humiliated and ashamed by his family life was a grand understatement.

"TEAM! BACK ON THE COURT!"

They all groaned in unison before jogging back onto the court, its spotless surface glistening almost mockingly at them.

Only one more excruciating hour of practice to go.

In the locker room after practice, the lazy chatter rippled throughout the showers and lockers as usual. Troy made sure he was the last person out. He always tried to take as long as possible, for his father would stay after practice sometimes and make notes in his office. Sometimes Troy would encounter him accidentally, or vice versa, and he tried to avoid those interactions—especially in front of mixed company. His meddlesome teammates probed him with more personal questions, and Troy only tried his best to shrug them off. He was relieved when the locker room finally pulsed with prized silence, and he filed away his things in his locker in peace.

But the peace was short-lived.

Latishia Yu cornered him just as he emerged from the locker room. Her long eyelashes batted suggestively at him, and he almost gagged.

"Y-Yes?" he stammered fuzzily, as if he were a waiter asking, How may I help you?

"You look really hot in that shirt," Latishia commented casually. She stuck out a manicured finger, pointing it at Troy's shirt. It was a simple green polo.

"Thanks," Troy hoarsely responded. He took a step to his left, but Latishia quickly blocked him.

"Where is it from? Like, where did you get it?" She was trying to pretend like she was interested.

"Abercrombie and Fitch," Troy spluttered back in a gravelly tone. He made another move to leave, but Latishia refused for that to happen.

"Nice," Latishia replied coolly. "Do you think that shirt would look good on me?"

"What?"

"Do you think your shirt would look good on me?" Latishia repeated composedly. She seemed totally unfazed for once. She calmly brushed away a strand of her dark hair, her deep hazel eyes spiraling.

"It's a men's shirt," Troy burbled perplexedly. "Excuse me…"

But she just wouldn't let him move.

"You know what?" Latishia began, taking a few steps forward.

Air…air…he needed to breathe!

"Wh-What?"

He was now encaged in Latishia's slim arms against the lockers. Latishia nudged his shoulder, and his back clashed with the cool metal. It was embarrassing that Latishia was looking down on him. She was so tall.

"We should go have a quickie in the closet," Latishia decided bluntly. She smirked at him.

Horror flooded Troy's face, but before he could even react, Latishia's fat lips had landed on his. They were nothing like Gabriella's gentle, elegant kisses; they were rapid and harsh, demanding and dominating. Troy was disgusted with himself, and tried to shove Latishia away, but she just wouldn't move. After a minute or so of hard, torturous kisses, Latishia reluctantly surrendered.

Troy had never darted away so fast in his life.

"So what names do you like, mija?" Maria asked Gabriella, unusually benign. She was trying too hard.

Gabriella glanced up from her book on the opposite sofa. Maria was outstretched on her couch, her bare feet on one armrest and her head resting on the other, a little bump distinguishable around her middle. She maternally rested one hand on it, the other thumbing through a thick paperback of baby names.

"Anything modern and normal," Gabriella sighed in boredom before switching her attention back to her book. She flipped a page, easily engrossing herself back into the gripping novel.

"Hmm…no, no," Maria disagreed with a shake of her head. "I want a unique name…"

Oh no. No, no, no…

"…something with bang and sparkle…"

Disaster zone! Disaster!

"…something that no one will ever forget…"

"—Ma, do you hear those sirens?" Gabriella interjected briskly.

"No!" Maria jolted up in alarm, her eyes skipping around the room. "Where?"

"In my head," Gabriella calmly answered, her nose inside the book. "I mean, come on! Do you wanna give the poor kid a heart attack?"

"Well, no. But I want something memorable and interesting and unique." Maria settled back onto the couch, returning to her previous lazy position.

A rich silence filled the air, and Gabriella swore gratefully under her breath at it and began to read once more. Not too long after, Maria's voice shattered the silence.

"So, what about Mezzimela for a girl?"

"What?" Gabriella nearly shrieked, jerking up and dropping her book to the side. "Sounds like mozzarella!"

"Exactly! My favorite cheese!"

What was wrong with her?! Gabriella couldn't even believe she was related to the woman.

"Fine, fine. No Mezzimela. How about Shakimopopo for a boy?"

"Where do you even get these names?!" Gabriella hollered out. Her patience was notoriously short, as was her fiery temper.

"They're in here!" Maria shrugged innocently, turning back to the book.

Gabriella abruptly stood and wrenched the book from her mother's hands. "I'm sorry, but there's no way we're naming the kid something that crazy." She began to rip out the pages. "I'm sorry." She shredded a few, to Maria's sheer horror, and allowed the petrified fragments to litter the carpet.

"Fine, then," Maria stubbornly replied. She crossed her arms childishly. "What names do you suggest?"

"How about John or Jane?" Gabriella fumed lividly. "There's nothing wrong with those names! How did you even manage to name me something normal?"

"Your father picked it, sweetheart," Maria shrugged coolly. She tried to dismiss her daughter's inappropriate behavior. "He refused to name you anything else. And had you been a boy, you would have been Gabriel."

Gabriella nearly broke down at the mention of her father, but she swiftly spun away before her mother could see her tears. Gabriella snatched her novel and stormed up the stairs, angrily slamming her bedroom door shut behind her.

She picked up her phone and dialed.

"Troy?" She whimpered feebly into the receiver.

"I'm going out," Jack announced in his snarling voice, seizing his heavy coat and shrugging it on.

Troy peered up from the TV. "Okay," he croaked weakly.

"Okay," Jack nodded quickly. "Bye."

And he was gone, the screen door slapping shut behind him.

Troy hopelessly sank into the leather couch, letting it encase him completely. He flicked through the channels, bored out of his mind. He finally found a basketball game, and immersed himself in it. He just needed to forget for a moment. He needed to forget what Latishia had done. What he had done. What would Gabriella say? Would she leave him? Was he even going to tell her? No. He couldn't tell her. That would ruin everything. The battle inside of him was raging. The guilt he was experiencing had never been more serious in his life. His shoulders felt like they were being weighted down, and he was sluggish. He didn't want to do anything.

Hours passed, and he was slumbering on the plush sofa when the door jerked open again. In staggered his drunken father, utterly dizzy and dazed. He roughly kicked the door closed behind him, a deafening bang ensuring, and he numbly lurched forward into the kitchen. He erratically flicked on the light. The blaring TV was merely background noise now—Troy became fearfully motionless, molding into a stone statue.

He just needed to escape the scene.

Troy heard cupboards shudder as Jack violently jimmied their rusting knobs, wrenching the wooden doors open with dangerous power. He was searching for scraps of food. Troy cowered frightfully on the couch, flinching with every grunt his father emitted. The refrigerator heaved open and then slammed shut again. He heard Jack growl with satisfaction as he finally took in his precious beer, the glass clanking noisily against the marble countertop of the island. Troy could just visualize him slouched indolently against the counter, that stupid haze evident on his unshaven face, the beer clenched loosely in his hand. Troy could hear him munching on something edible.

Suddenly, the phone was ringing.

It rang and rang and rang, and just went Troy expected it to stop, Jack picked it up.

"Huh…lo?" he drawled vaguely.

"Yes, Jack," a familiar voice snapped loudly. Troy quickly identified the voice to be Sage's.

"Oh…oh S-Sage!" Jack burst out in a pitiful stutter.

"Jack," Sage began firmly.

"Oh, Sage," Jack dimly interrupted what would have been her monologue. "Come over now. I think the bastardly kid is out of the house! You can scream as loud as you want."

Troy gulped forcibly, his grave eyes blindly watering as he stared directly at the TV. He wasn't blinking. Don't move…don't budge…a voice was chanting in a low mutter in his mind.

"I can't. I can't see you anymore," Sage announced resolutely. Troy was surprised at how professional she was acting. "I just…I can't."

"Wuh…why?" Jack spluttered vaguely.

Sage was silent on the other line.

The beer bottle caused an earsplitting sound when it collided with the tiled floor, foamy liquid splattering its surface. Troy was perfectly rigid.

"You scare me," Sage whimpered weakly.

The line went dead.

Troy stiffened on the sofa even more, his hands scrunching into tight, nervous fists.

He heard Jack roar in animalistic way from the kitchen, his sneering voice madly rumbling throughout the house. The angry bull had been unleashed from the confines inside of him.

And all in good timing, Troy's cell phone began to ring.

Jack was fuming, his nostrils flared and his unkempt face painted red. He lumbered into the living room where Troy burrowed on the couch, his flushed forehead wrinkled. Jack stomped in front of Troy, towering over him monstrously. Troy studied his haggard features, quickly detecting insanity.

"You didn't hear that," Jack grumbled thunderously, his own fists tightening. One connected with Troy's knee, stabbing it hard. Troy only winced. "That phone call. You didn't hear that phone call. It is nonexistent. It never happened. Got it kid?" The other fist jabbed his stomach, instantaneously making Troy double over with blistering pain. He clutched his stomach, trying his hardest not to moan out.

Jack was about to retreat to his bedroom when Troy's phone began to chime again. The basketball coach punched Troy once more in the shoulder before finally receding to his room.

There had been many worse times.

Troy sat there limply grasping his bruised stomach when his cell phone began to ring again. He didn't waste any time in answering the call.

"Troy?" a memorable silky voice mumbled powerlessly.

He sighed despairingly to himself. "Gabi?" His heart melted.

"Baby, I need you," Gabriella whispered faintly on the other line. "I need you now. My mother has gone delusional. The whole world has gone delusional."

"I know, babe, I know." What else could he say? "I'll be right there, Gabi." He pushed himself off of the sofa, not bothering to grab his coat as he scuttled to his beaten truck.

"I love you," Gabriella murmured tenderly before hanging up.

"I love you, too," Troy replied with just as much affection.

Troy did what he usually did; he dashed to the Wheatons' over the speed limit, parked his car a block away, and sprinted to their house. There, he clambered up Gabriella's balcony, and she would usually be standing there idly by the window, waiting with desolate tears streaming down her angelic face.

"Oh, God," Gabriella mumbled halfheartedly as she fell against Troy's defined chest, his arms coming around her in a familiar embrace.

Troy rubbed her back and whispered sweet nothings in her ear like a good boyfriend. He dressed her in her pajamas and tucked her safely in bed like a good boyfriend. He waited until she was asleep until he left like a good boyfriend.

But this time, he felt guilt ebbed into every one of his actions. He felt somewhat awkward around her now, no matter how hard he tried to put it right. Their kisses were slightly uncomfortable, as were their brief conversations.

All because of Latishia Yu.