Chapter 11
With Celine-Celine's POV
I love the mountains. The air, the snow, the—"Celine!", the hot helpers that work at the lodge. "Coming!" I called, racing through my room to do some last minute adjustments, my first skiing lesson, and I was not going to blow it. I know I lied to Troy, saying that I was going to visit my parents and my sick, dying father, but I hate scenes like that, they depress me. So, I just called up my mom and told her that Troy and I are planning a special Christmas Eve. She believed me. If you don't think I feel guilty I do, I just—"Celine! Your lesson time is going to be used up!" said the voice, it both teasing and playfully stern, that's why I love him. Look, I love Troy I do, it's just…that….I've outgrown him, little girls do that with toy's they don't play with anymore. "I'm coming Ryan!"
End of Celine's POV
With Troy, Chad, and Angie
"Dude, I thought you said you weren't decorating this year?" said Chad, as he looked around at all the tinsel and ribbon and….were those Christmas candles? He's never so much red, green, gold, and silver in his life…well…unless you don't count what Sharpay wore to receive her first Grammy Award. Oh, that was a night that Chad didn't want to remember and didn't plan on remembering.
"Well, I—"Troy paused, how could he explain this in a way that Chad could understand?—"me and Angie worked together on it, it was her idea." Perfect, giving credit where it's due. Yesterday was a blast, he's haven't had fun like that since…well, high school, he and Gabriella would always decorate and end up in covered in gold and silver tinsel hours later. Troy smirked at the memory. He missed those days. Well, he smirked at the memory, but he was also trying to hide a giant grin when he saw Chad's eyes widen at his response.
"You mean the kid that—"
"Angie." Troy said, "Her name is 'Angie', not 'the kid' and not 'that kid', got it?"
"Whatever," Chad retorted, "the point is that she is claiming to be your—"
"Chad, she's not claiming, she's my daughter." Troy defended, he was trying to maintain a reasonable voice level, because when he woke up that morning, Angie was still asleep, and he figured that he'd let her sleep. Although Chad was making it really difficult to keep a reasonable voice level.
"She's just a kid!"
"No, she's not sh—" Troy was interrupted by a delicate sneeze, well, the sneeze sounded delicate, but it also sounded like it was being masked as if the person who sneezed was trying to send it back up their sinuses.
"AH-CHOO!" the sneeze came from behind the wall that connected to the refrigerator. Angie hoped to god that she wasn't getting sick, but she couldn't figure out why she was sneezing either, "AH-CHOO!"
"Angie, come out now." Troy demanded softly. She walked slowly into the kitchen, holding her stomach, looking pale. "You okay?" Troy asked, his face was marred with concern and his brow furrowed in the middle, "you look sick." Oh, really, I look sick? Well, no shit Sherlock, I am sick! Thought Angie to herself, she almost too sick to talk; well, that and the fact that she was trying to hold back vomit. But, she spoke anyway: "I feel like crap…." She said as she sat on the stool that Troy pulled out, only when Troy put her breakfast in front of her, "Thanks…uh oh…" she jumped off the stool and ran to the sink and vomited chunks of unidentifiable items into it. "That's disgusting….." she said when she finished.
Troy looked at his daughter, and then at Chad, he didn't know what to do. Chad only shrugged, as if to say, 'I don't know, you figure it out."
"I'm going to go lay down on the couch," Angie groaned as she went to the living room. "O-okay, you want anything?" Troy asked, was he doing the right thing? It feels right. "No, thanks any…way.." Angie moaned, she laid down on the cushions and pulled out a scrap of paper and a pencil and began writing, it wasn't long before she fell asleep.
Dear diary,
I can't believe that I am sick! Ugh! And tomorrow is
When I was planning to get a Christmas tree! It's so unfair!
I hope the stomach flu clears up before Christmas!
I'm really glad I found—and met—my dad. I am going to thank my
Granddad for still keeping in contact with him and—unlike my mother—gave me a picture.
Thank you grandpa!
Love you dad! You're all I wanted for Christmas!
Tootles- Angie 3
p.s. now, to do something about that slut in the picture on the mantle, like I said before diary,
I don't know what happened back then, but I know what's going to happen now.
It was this particular entry that Troy read when he picked up the scrap of paper off of her lap when she was so asleep that a semi-truck wouldn't wake her. She looked peaceful, he didn't want to disturb her, but what he read, it confused him. What did she mean by 'doing something' about the picture of the woman on his mantle? Well, one thing he knew, she was curious about what happened, he should tell her, but why not wait. Let this plan of hers unfold, he thought as he put the paper in his pocket and tip-toed upstairs, this ought to be interesting.