Yay, quicker update...

I wrote this back when I was still in school a few weeks ago. I had to bring up my French grade and thought "Why not braid it into the story a little more than just having Brandon and Gabby taking the class?" So if you get annoyed by reading different languages that you don't know (there's a translation right after, don't worry) I'm sorry.

The chapter title's in French, too, if you didn't already notice. Try to figure out what it means and answer in your review.

Disclaimer: I don't own "Whatcha Say" by Jason Derulo or "Pain" by Three Days Grace.

Chapter 30 – Froid et Brisé

"Brandon, wait up!"

Brandon froze and took a deep, defeated breath when he heard his name come out of his sister's mouth that Monday morning. He'd built his new routine around the fact that he was beginning to feel more and more antisocial by the day, so naturally waking up at 4:30 to walk to school usually gets people off of your back. Unless you have a concerned sister that heard your alarm go off.

The clicking of Gabriella's heels was slower than the speed that she usually ran at, which could mean one of two things: she was carrying extra baggage or she was in a mini-skirt, he didn't turn around the see. Either way, he was saved. Thanks to his blessed dancer's feet, he could scurry away from her and easily make it look like a coincidence. But first he'd have to get past the burden of actually talking to her. How could his day get any worse from here?

"Hey," she greeted him with a warm smile when she finally caught up to him, moving the hair from her face. "Car run out of gas?"

Brandon's eyes fell over her body once and a heavy feeling of understanding washed over him. He was right about the khaki mini-skirt, complete with a white, low-cut baby doll top and her short white heels of course. She only dressed this way on certain occasions and all of them involved one specific neighbor of theirs. Brandon's teeth clenched at the thought of his re-established ex-best friend. The war was on again, but brought with it new standards. The two haven't spoken to each other since their backyard battle, nor has anyone in the gang (besides Gabriella) acknowledged Brandon's rare presence around them.

Believe it or not, lunch was the easiest time to avoid all contact with the feuding groups, since Brandon's old crew sat at least five tables down from the gang. Mike, Amy, Todd, and Drew gladly accepted him back, but the joy was shot once they caught a glimpse of how low he'd sunk. He barely spoke and if he did, it was to Amy about whatever she was arguing with Mike about. He'd rather have that than see them exchanging DNA through each other's throats. He knew he'd kept Amy close by for a reason; someone had to know most of his thoughts at all times.

"Sure," he finally replied without so much as a reassuring glance in her eyes, "why don't we go with that?"

Gabriella slowly nodded, not taking her eyes off of his retreating figure. She quickly darted after him, her heels clicking on the pavement in the background of her words. "You know that Mom keeps extra in the garage, don't you? It's helped me out so many times I've lost count."

"How nice for you."

"Did you get the French homework done?" She ignored his sarcasm and grabbed her French book from her bag, "I'm having trouble with the être passé compose."

"Forgot it."

"Can you help me anyway?"

Brandon gritted his teeth and exhaled harshly through his nose. "No, Gabriella, I can't. Ask someone else."

"But you got an A on that test last week-"

"I said," he flew around and found that he was directly in her face, forcing her to backtrack her steps and cower in his menacing hiss. "That I'm not helping you! So go hitch a ride with your fuck buddy and leave me the hell alone, understand, or do I have to say it en français? Laissez-moi tranquille, Gabriella!" "…do I have to say it in French? Leave me alone, Gabriella!"

Just like her stability, Gabriella's lungs seemed to surrender the oxygen over to Brandon's ruthless tirade. The silence between them seemed way too loud for both of them, even though it was exactly what Brandon had been praying for. But he hoped it still hurt her. It wouldn't make any sense for him to suffer more and her not at all. His resentment would only intensify.

Gabriella gulped and lifted her head just enough to view his edgy frame in front of her through her bangs. The tears were close, she could feel it.

"Qu'est-ce que tu as, Brandon?" "What's wrong with you, Brandon?"

Brandon slid his eyes away from the dead street to glare at his sister. He felt the need to flex his arms to keep his sudden anger to himself, but automatically knew the painful consequences if his wounds stretched. Instead he shrugged, raising his voice a little.

"Rien." "Nothing."

Gabriella let her head fall to her hands, her black curls curtaining her uncomfortable face as she twirled her fingers around to distract herself. Once she brought it back up and flipped the bangs out of her eyes, she glanced at the house beside them while mumbling the words that she knew would get her in trouble if Brandon even remembered what they meant.

"Ton sa copine…"

The pavement almost shattered and the space between them nearly doubled when Brandon looked at Gabriella again, startling her into a moment of sudden shock and forcing her to leap back. The demon had returned with chocolate razors that cut her internal organs into shreds small enough that no one would dare speak the words for "your girlfriend…" again.

Brandon's jagged growl was low enough to seem deadly, but loud enough to give it the right amount of general anger. "Tais-toi!" "Shut up!"

She couldn't keep her voice from shaking as she concentrated on inhaling and exhaling, recovering from the harsh blow of her twin's gaze. "J-je suis desole…" "I-I'm sorry…"

It stayed this way for a couple of long, painful moments, with Gabriella recuperating from the atomic bombs fired at her and Brandon's internal fight to calm himself down. The only way he felt this could be completely conquered was out of the picture at this particular moment, and he resisted the urge to reach up to his neck and clutch the new necklace that he wore in case of situations similar to this one. If he didn't have a memory attack in his room and had one at school instead, he would easily excuse himself to the bathroom, rip the sharp, diamond-shaped Christmas present from his father off, and bleed the images out of his head. After waiting for the europhia to let him down off his high and for the blood to thicken and clot well enough for it to almost stop completely, he'd wrap his arm in paper towels and return to class as if nothing had happened in the first place. As long as he followed his plan and stayed out of everyone's way so that there was no chance of him having to reveal his arm, he was perfectly in the clear.

Brandon took one last, silent breath through his nose before turning his body to prepare to walk away. But something was residing on his tongue since the very second he'd laid eyes on his sister that morning. His eyes did one more sweep over her body before he let his last dagger rip towards her self-confidence.

"Pull down your skirt; you look like a whore."

When Gabriella lifted her head to show him her widened eyes, she only found that he had turned the corner; he was gone, leaving her on her own to fight her tears. Damn his silent, perfect dancer's feet.

She was too far into her head to hear a new noise pull up beside her on the street. It was only when the horn honked that Gabriella's head snapped around and came face to face with her familiar guest. She took one last look at Brandon's ghost before shuffling over to the passenger door of Troy's blue Camry and sliding herself in. Gabriella could feel him gazing over at her, the confusion pouring off of his face in waves until his eyes fell on the French homework on top of her stack of books. Even when Troy's expression switched to defensive understanding, she didn't look at him.

She knew she loved him for a reason; he reached over, took her face in his hands, and pulled her to meet his soft lips, his mouth moving against hers in a way that safely told her that if she wanted it to be like this, forever and always, he wouldn't object. Whatever she wanted, needed, or simply dreamed about could be possible as long as she stayed by his side, in his arms, capturing his soul like she always did.

And if that meant trapping Brandon in a sound-proof closet for round two, so be it. Who was he to object?

However, she still pulled away when a whimper crept up her throat. Gabriella ducked her head into the crook of Troy's neck as if letting him see her cry would destroy all that he just established in his mind. How could he possibly be with someone this weak and vulnerable? It was pathetic.

She sniffled and tried her best to sound coherent, stronger. "H-how much of that did you hear?"

"Right around the être passé part. And I hope I never find out what 'ton sa copine' means." He pulled her closer to his chest and subconsciously twirled her curls around his finger at the memory of Brandon's face, contorted with anger, flash through his head.

Gabriella giggled for a second before inhaling the fragrance of his t-shirt: detergent and musk. "I'll just say this: we were right about him and Izzy from the start. It looks like no one's trying to make things easier."

Troy kissed her forehead and heard his breath come out in a heavy wisp against her skin. "I know. It'll be okay, I promise. We'll all get through this sooner or later," When she closed her eyes, he glared out of his window at the spot where Brandon had been standing only three minutes earlier. "One way or another…"

The hell with it, Gabriella thought to herself as she felt the tears prick her eyes again. They stung the same way flowing down her cheeks as she spoke again, this time in a broken, ragged breath.

"I'm scared, Troy."

He noticed that she had joined him in looking out at the empty sidewalk and the glower was wiped from his face. Troy stroked her arm as she rested on his shoulder, tapping into his Spanish skills and almost glad that he wasn't taking her beloved French, the romantic language of Hell.

"Yo tambien." "Me, too."

"Mr. Danforth!"

Chad's head shot off of the desk as Ms. Darbus bellowed his name across the classroom. He blinked away some of the tiredness from his eyes and sighed deeply. "What page are we on?"

Darbus slit her eyes and made a sort of growling/braying sound under her breath. She stomped forward, swinging her turquoise scarf around her neck, and came to a halt in front of his desk. "Unless you count the pages of Hustler I imagine you were dreaming up, we're not in our books today. Now please remind me: what's the one thing I hate most in this world, Chad?"

Chad had to still be half-asleep, otherwise he never would've yawned this: "Chill pills?"

She rolled her eyes. "The second one, Mr. Smart-Aleck. And you know as well as well as I do that slumber is meant for the body to schedule itself, not drugs."

"Then why are you yelling at me for sleeping?"

"You have to put in at least some effort to sleep at night, Danforth, not gyrating to BET videos."

Chad paused, pulling his eyebrows together as a serious question ran across his mind. "Was that coincidentally racist or were you stalking my bedroom window last night?"

"The answer," she loudly interrupted him, "is ignorance. From not knowing a simple question to not having the decency to stay conscious for forty-one minutes to get a decent education is one of the most barbaric crimes you can commit. Let me ask you a question, Danforth: do you believe in hypnotism?"

Chad gulped, sulking away in his seat. "I…don't know…"

"Does it bother you to repeat the same motion or phrase over and over and over again?"

"…sure."

Darbus nodded, her beady eyes looking triumphant. "Then paying attention in class would blow over better than having to repeat one phrase for the rest of your life as a career: would you like fries with that?"

Most of the class exploded into a mixture of chuckles and shocked "ohh"s as Chad blushed and sunk even further into his desk. He was one of the two who didn't find the insult funny at all; his other half resided in the back corner of the room in a black hoodie and trying not to put too much pressure on his left forearm. It seemed as if he didn't find anything funny anymore.

"Back on task," Darbus called when the class finally calmed, "My question, Chad, was to release your current feelings in one of your favorite song's beats. Ms. Montez gave us a beautiful poem to a Christina Agularia song. Take your turn."

Hip-hop was in Chad's blood, therefore it didn't take very long for him to lay a freestyle down to "Whatcha Say":

"Just 'cause I doze off in the middle of class doesn't mean that I'm a fool
I can still spit the rhymes when I open my eyes
Now who's right, me or you?
So tell me, ma'am
Mhmm, whatcha say?
Well of course you didn't
Mhmm, whatcha say?
Mhmm, that it's all for the best?
I don't think it is!

When he finished his upbeat, in-your-face performance—complete with standing up and doing little dances in front of the room—the class erupted again, this time into cheers. Chad was gathering his respective high-five praise from nearly everyone while Darbus and Brandon were left still and rolling their eyes.

Chad finally crossed his arms and turned around, cocking his eyebrow at his drama teacher. "So, whatcha say, Ms. D; how 'bout them participation points?"

You could see her jaw clench even beneath her sagging cheeks. She huffed and restrained herself from growling again. "Just sit down, Danforth."

"Thank you!"

"Whatever." Chad and Troy exchanged humored looks, especially Chad who knew that his invigorating episode had woken Troy up as well.

"Moving on," Darbus continued sullenly, but perking up some when she realized that Brandon wasn't joining in on the charades. "Mr. Montez."

Brandon didn't reply; he just gazed up at his teacher through his bangs blackly.

"You've been uncharacteristically quiet today. Why don't you take a turn?"

"To what?" he said flatly.

Darbus shrugged. "Why not to that band that you enjoy so much? What are they called…Day Three Pace?"

"Three Days Grace," most of the class corrected, even Troy who kept his eyes on his desk along with his intertwined fists.

"Ahh," she nodded, "of course. I listened to one of their more popular songs, Pain. It's surprisingly tasteful; why don't you use it?"

Brandon sighed, but didn't move his carefully crossed arms. After making the effort to unlock his jaw, he inhaled and breathed the words of his broken heart.:

"She, lied to me
I'm free
So now just tell me why
Do I feel
Like the ground holds the limits
And not the sky?"

Everything was silent for a moment. The humor from Chad's poem disappeared and Brandon was the new spectacle that everyone stared at. He didn't care. Just sitting there slumped in his chair was good enough for him.

"Well then," Darbus spoke, breaking the icy silence. It was like a teacher talking after they blow up at the class. "that was…creative. May I ask what sparked that kind of emotion?"

Brandon looked up from under his lashes and locked eyes with her. It felt as if he were trying to communicate some kind of thought to her silently; something like "Please don't torment me in front of everyone."

Darbus didn't get it, but Troy did. When you've had someone in your life for sixteen years, that tends to happen. His fists clenched even tighter and his body decided to harbor the sudden intake of air, like it was attempting to cool his heated blood. Brandon deserved to burn forever for what he did, but if his voice made itself known to Troy's ears one more time, he'd lose it. Both of them would. He could feel it.

"Mr. Montez," Darbus asked again, "please share your passionate wisdom with us. What could've possibly happened to create such angst and tourmen-"

"Why don't we move onto someone who actually wants to learn and not waste all of our class time on slackers and quitters?" Troy hastily requested with a sarcastic tone and gritted teeth. He could feel his confused classmates' eyes on him now, the third spectacle of the day. Ms. Darbus turned to look at Troy for a second as well, but she couldn't help her eyes from sliding back over to Brandon. His face was almost completely invisible, the only skin being darkened by shadow. She couldn't tell if he was fuming or crying—or both. Exerting anger through tears wasn't uncommon, after all.

Troy knew he was in trouble the second he realized that she wasn't scolding him for telling her what to do. Darbus didn't speak for a few moments, looking between the renewed rivals with a glint of sorrow and disappointment behind her glasses.

She eventually nodded and sighed. "Very well, then," Her knowing gaze cut through Troy's body and mind completely, becoming so opaque that she could damn near see Chad behind him. "Mr. Williams, care to share?"

Just because Brandon was dismissed didn't mean that he was forgotten. He knew that would be proven some way, somehow at the end of class, if not sooner. Darbus wasn't one to condone sudden rashness or strange behaviors that popped up overnight, which had literally happened to Brandon in such a way that she was almost frightened by him. And she hasn't feared a student since the seventies, when a senior pulled a gun in the hallway.

When the bell rang, Troy gathered his papers, tucked them under his arm, and slung his book bag onto his back, focused on asking Chad about the basketball game that night when a hot chill ran down his back. It wasn't foreign, since he'd felt a thrill very similar when his fist reconnected with Brandon's jaw for the first time in a long while last week. It came and went as soon as Brandon was on the ground, just like now as the words proficiently emptied into the quiet air from Darbus's mouth.

"Mr. Bolton, Mr. Montez?"

They both froze, as did Gabriella as her eyes flew back and forth between her brother and her boyfriend, quickly imagining which one was going to snap from the sudden, crushing pressure from being in the same room for more than ten seconds. Nearly alone. They had to be seeing red by now, getting dizzy and lightheaded, and swallowing back the screams in their throats. She felt a pinpointing pain on her tongue and it took her a second to realize that it was her biting it, reacting from the nerves stabbing her, tearing their way out of her body through her sweaty palms. Troy and Brandon weren't the ones freaking out, she thought to herself like an idiot, she was. And she had to get out of there before any one of them looked up to realize her still standing there.

Darbus gave a curt nod as she tore out of the room quicker than it took the older woman to flick her eyes back to the two seniors.

They weren't looking at each other, of course, just at the floor or the doorway that had just promised them freedom a quick second ago. Troy felt his fist clench and his brain wish that it were a person so that the could beat the living shit out of it for teasing him so. It wasn't until a moment later that he realized he wasn't alone in the room or in these thoughts. And that was why the walls seemed suddenly closer and more prone to claustrophobia.

"Mr. Bolton," Darbus evenly spoke up again, observing him from his feet up. "can I have a word with you, please?"

Troy's rigid frame struggled to smother the angry tremors that flowed directly beneath the surface of his skin as he slowly turned on the balls of his feet. He kept his eyes strictly on the aged woman in front of him.

Darbus held up a hand to Brandon, as if presenting him as the newest iPod model at an Apple convention. "Would you please look your brother in the eye for a moment?"

The only way to hide his fury now was to massacre it, curling his toes and shoving it out of his lungs in an exhale so long Brandon had a quick urge to peek up and see if he was okay. Surprisingly, his desperate method seemed to work, temporarily. He opened his eyes and felt his nerves calm ever so slightly as he spoke in a flat, innocent voice.

"I'm an only child, Ms. Darbus."

Darbus's face smoothed of its sharp, professional shield, if only momentarily, to take on a sort of parental, motherly gaze. Her eyes softened as she looked at him with a pleading expression. "You know what I mean, Troy."

His concentration to conceal his anger seemed to drain him, leaving him dizzy and lightheaded. His teacher's body and their surroundings seemed to sway in a light breeze that came through no window, his breathing seemed much too loud to be pounding through his ears like it was. This would be the first time in a long time that his control—though necessary—came with the disorienting consequences that he stubbornly rejected to admit he shared with Brandon.

Or maybe it was the fact that his head willingly turned to stare at Brandon for the first time in days, the hate and disappointment evident even to the mocha orbs that didn't return Troy's gaze. He refused, he could keep the power as long as he kept his wavering will power strong. Keep your head down, don't give in, keep your head down…

"No, I can't say that I do. I don't know who he is, if he even knows himself."

Troy didn't wait for anyone's reaction before gripping his book bag strap, glowering at Brandon one last time and marching out of the door. Darbus looked after him with a hard frown and pained eyes.

She suppressed a sigh while turning her head back to Brandon, her eyebrows coming together in confusion. If this were her when she was eighteen, she'd be quivering and shaking so hard her teeth would shatter and choke her to death. If her sister since the age of two spat that at her, she wouldn't know what she would do.

Brandon, not so much. He was as still as a vampire, his chest frozen with the breath that his body put on hiatus.

"Mr. Montez?"

He kept his icy stare on the wall behind her. His jaw looked to be too strained to be relaxed and open for any degree of conversation other than none at all. The ice seemed to melt suddenly as Brandon's eyes closed, the breath starting to pump through his stale lungs again. It was too hard; they seemed to be full already. His fists balled inside his pockets, the absence of the sharp necklace making his palm sear more than a lighter held under his hand. He was nearly blind with conflicting emotions as his cracked voice threatened to break when he spoke.

"Can I go to the bathroom now, Ms. Darbus?"

"Chad, I'm sure your little stunt back there just made everyone's day. It was seriously kickass."

Chad turned and smiled just as Gabriella caught up with him in the hallway. Even if he'd been looking, he wouldn't have found a trace of worry or edge on her face from leaving Troy and Brandon alone with Darbus. "Thanks. I'm sure I'd have liked yours, too, if I was awake."

"Gee, thanks."

Chad rolled his eyes and followed her to her locker, sensing her humored smile when her face turned away from him. "Sorry, the witch named Darbus puts sleeping spells on us everyday. Probably more so on me because she can't stand me…"

"Oh, well then if there's magic involved, don't hesitate to blow the rest of us off and do whatever the hell you want." She smiled wider after trading her English book for Calculus.

Chad grinned simply. "I knew you'd understand."

Gabriella giggled. "So I see who came to unload their post-shenanigan bull on the next on the list."

But at that, all trace of humor was washed from Chad's face and seemed to seek out his nerves, making him jumpy and restless. He took a quick look around them and, lowering his voice, replied. "Actually, I have to talk to you about something serious, Gabriella."

"What's going on?" She was on full alert now as well. She closed her locker and rested against it, clutching her books to her chest a bit nervously.

Chad hesitated, allowing a few blinks and breaths to prepare him for a simple, difficult piece of news. "Sarah called Matt last night."

Gabriella paused. "Izzy's sister?"

Chad nodded. He knew he could always count on Gabriella to make the quick speculations, usually the correct ones, and then follow it up with the point that he—thankfully—didn't have to make out loud.

Gabriella was cautious before speaking, squeezing her books tighter to her body. "How is she?"

Chad didn't answer right away, he couldn't. He just shook his head slightly and looked away at the passing hoard of students on their way to their next class, their happy expressions being the source of his envy and jealousy.

"Chad."

"It's like she's not even human anymore," He whispered, locking eyes with her and unconsciously moving his head so close to hers, his hair was hanging in her face, "She hasn't been talking, eating, sleeping, bathing…she hasn't even been able to go to the bathroom by herself. Brooke made her sit on the toilet for an hour and a half while her mom washed the sheets. Don't even ask about school, because it was a war just to get her to leave her bed."

"Jesus…"

Chad sighed in agreement. "No one's really been able to get to sleep. Ms. J won't let Sarah spend the night with Izzy, but she doesn't even have to be in the room to know what's going on in there."

The slight horror and hesitance made itself known again on her face. "What is going on?"

Chad inhaled, but swallowing the lump in his throat took the words with it.

"Chad," Gabriella gripped his shoulder in support, "come on, you can tell me. We need to know this."

His breath was strangled, and she allowed him to keep his eyes on the floor for a while as he told her the next crushing blow that Matt had passed onto him. "…remember last summer when your TV was acting up and we got stuck watching Law & Order, the episode where they shot the dude in the head until the bullets ran out?" He looked up now and the tears in his eyes were hard to ignore. "Izzy had a nightmare that night about her dad and she woke up Troy's parents next door."

Gabriella nodded, secretly remembering Brandon clutching her to his body so tightly that night he had muscle cramps the next day until she fell back asleep. Against her better judgment, she winced at the memory, knowing the double meaning of the action. "That bad?"

Chad's voice was lower than a whisper now, so low he was basically mouthing the words now. "Worse. She might as well have been admiring puppies compared to what she sounds like now. They're scared that she might really hurt herself or—" He stopped suddenly, paling. "Or worse."

She had to make up for her tiny amount of weakness earlier, so she cleared her expression of all personal preference and hardened her voice into a strict business tone. "What should we do?"

"We can't do much with this distance issue, but I'm just hoping that she'll get enough sense to talk to one of us. And soon, before any more damage is done, physical and mental."

"Which is worse?" Her voice wavered in her head, but she hoped he didn't notice.

"The physical stress is catching up with her. Brooke keeps noticing her holding her chest like she's trying to hold back some kind of pain." Chad pressed his right hand directly over his heart, overlapping it with his left, and gripped to demonstrate.

Gabriella hesitated, staring at his posture and thinking that it was a bit odd and worrisome. "Did they get it checked out?"

Chad shook his head sadly. "Izzy won't leave the house. She hasn't been on the first floor in God knows how long. We have to find out what happened. Brandon seriously messed her up and it's literally killing her."

Gabriella forced herself back to business, envisioning her mother's lawyer expression when she practiced at home. "I'll talk to Troy and call Brooke later. Just keep up on the updates with Matt and Sarah." She softened suddenly, gripping his bicep again. "Don't worry, Chad, we'll get to the bottom of this."

Chad smiled again, although it was full of remorse and just that—worry. "Thanks, Gabs."

"That's what family does."

REVIEW! Thnx :]

~Rachel :]