Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Bye, Mom!” I tug my shirt into place as I rush down the stairs, my feet thudding against the hardwood floor.

“Grab some breakfast!” she calls from the kitchen, firm in that way only moms can be. “And don’t forget your bag!”

I let out a quiet groan, hoping she doesn’t hear, and scoop my basketball from the basket by the door. “I’m late!” I snatch my keys off the entry table. “You know Darbus is on my case about being tardy.”

I unlock the door, but just before I can open it, Mom steps into the hall, holding a muffin in one hand and a backpack in the other. I haven’t touched that backpack since freshman year, but she’s not giving me a choice.

I roll my eyes and take them from her. “Thanks.”

As I reach for the door again, her hand catches my arm. “If you treat your teachers the way you treat me, it’s no wonder they ‘have it out for you,’” she says, giving me a pointed look. Her grip tightens just enough to make her point.

I hold back another eye roll, meet her gaze, and try my best serious voice. “Sorry, Mom. I really have to go.”

She releases me, and I’m finally out the door.

Outside, I toss the backpack in the trunk and drop the basketball onto the passenger seat. I slide into the Jeep, the muffin already halfway gone, and start the engine. Then, I’m on my way.

***

I soon find myself pulling into the school parking lot, caught in the typical flood of late arrivals. Luckily, I have front-row parking reserved.

“Thanks, Coach,” I mutter as I park in the second-closest spot to the front doors—saved just for me. Being on the varsity basketball team definitely has its perks. Principal Matsui would never reserve prime parking for the chess club.

I shift the Jeep into park, grab my ball, and climb out through the window, landing in a light jog. The ball bounces steadily at my side, just like it always does.

As Coach likes to say, you can never get too much practice.

“Coming through!” I shout, weaving between a group of cheerleaders. I flash them a wink as I spin through the open double doors.

“Cutting it close, Chad,” Jason calls with a grin.

I slap his hand mid-stride and slip into the crowd of students pouring through the halls.

“What can I say?” I lift my arms and run backward for a step. “I like to live on the edge.”

The warning bell rings: two minutes left. I pick up the pace.

“Hey, Chad!”

I glance over my shoulder and spot someone who looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place them.

“Hey... you,” I say, spinning back around and continuing down the hallway. The ball thumps beside me. I don’t understand why people who’ve never talked to me act like we’re friends. I don’t have time for that, especially not today.

I hit the stairs at a run, pushing through a group that’s bunched up on the landing. I duck under a hug that clearly wasn’t meant for me and round the corner just as I catch a glimpse of Mrs. Darbus’s scarf floating behind her at the other end of the hall.

Nope. She does not need to see me right now.

I pick up speed as I enter the theatre wing. It always feels more like a basement down here. The classrooms are small and cold, and they smell like dust and old velvet. The auditorium creaks with every step, as if it’s holding in a ghost or two. I wouldn’t be surprised if something actually lived under the stage. The walls are stained and lined with faded posters from musicals that no one attended. I mean, really—who chooses to watch something called Oklahoma!?

I’m nearly at my homeroom door when I spot East High’s Drama Queens. Sharpay Evans stands out in her usual head-to-toe pink, every curl in place as if styled by professionals. Her brother Ryan, dressed in all pastels and patterns, tops off the look with his signature newsboy cap.

“Heads up!”

I shove past Sharpay, ignoring her shriek, and toss the ball into Troy’s hands. As I leap through the doorway, I push off Ryan’s shoulder. He stumbles and drops his bag.

I land with a spin, toss a shrug over my shoulder, and say, “Whoops.”

Troy throws the ball back to me, and I catch it easily.

I walk over to him but pause when I notice someone sitting at my desk—a new kid I’ve never seen before. I glance from him to Troy, waiting for an explanation.

“Is something wrong?” the guy asks, his voice soft and nervous.

I nod toward the space beneath him. “My desk.”

He looks at Troy, as if expecting him to save him. But seriously, he’s sitting on my desk.

Troy leans in a little too close and gestures to the back of the room. “Back row’s open,” he says with a grin.

The kid smiles back at Troy, wide-eyed, and they lock eyes for a moment longer than I’m comfortable with.

I clear my throat.

“Right,” the guy says, getting up quickly. He heads for the back of the room.

I slide into my seat and lean toward Troy. “Do you know him?”

Troy shakes his head slightly. “New kid.”

As if that’s supposed to mean something.

Before I can say more, Mrs. Darbus sweeps into the room, her scarf and skirt trailing behind her as if caught in a breeze no one else feels.

“I hope you all had a relaxing and restful break,” she begins, her voice ringing through the room. “However, the break is now over, and school is back in session.”

I drop my basketball onto my desk and lean forward, resting my head on top of it. If she’s going to monologue, I might as well recharge.

“While that may not mean much to the sports-playing boys among us,” she continues, waving her arms for emphasis, “there are those here who still value their education.”

Troy leans back and covers his words with a cough. “She’s a drama teacher.”

I snort under my breath. What kind of value does drama really add?

“Did you have something to contribute, Mr. Danforth?”

Damn. I lift my head. “No, ma’am.”

“Mr. Bolton? Perhaps you’d like to share?”

Troy just shakes his head, straight-faced.

“Then I suppose I’ll see the both of you in detention.”

She heads to her desk, grabs two pink slips, and writes our names before we can blink.

“For what?” I ask, already annoyed.

“Disrupting my class,” she says smoothly, “and for devaluing my profession. I have better ears than you think.”

Troy leans forward, flashing that smile that usually gets him out of trouble. “Mrs. Darbus, we didn’t say drama has no value.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond. Before she can, Ryan Evans cuts in.

“So what kind of educational value do you see in theatre?”

I groan and drop my forehead back onto my basketball.

Troy fumbles for words. “Uh... well, it… teaches you…”

“Disappointment,” a flat voice calls from the back.

I lift my head and turn to see the new kid. I burst out laughing.

A moment later, something smacks into my shoulder. I turn just in time to see Sharpay Evans glaring at me, still in her follow-through from throwing something. A glittery pink pen rolls off my desk and clatters to the floor.

Mrs. Darbus’s eyes snap to her, narrowing like a spotlight. “Mr. Montez. Ms. Evans. Detention.”

I laugh even louder now, which doesn't help Sharpay's case at all. She looks like she might actually explode.

Ryan stands up, his voice calm but tense. “Mrs. Darbus, Sharpay was only trying to defend you—and the fine arts. She may have overreacted, but her heart was in the right place.”

“Mr. Evans, sit down, or I’ll add your name to the list.”

He sits without arguing, his fists clenched and jaw locked.

Then, she turns to me. “Mr. Danforth, I suggest you control your exuberance. Otherwise, I’ll ensure you miss every basketball practice this semester.”

I immediately shut my mouth.

***

The bell rings, and we spill into the hallway. Backpacks hit shoulders, and voices rise. I try to fall in step with Troy—except he’s not there. I scan the corridor and spot him already halfway down, walking next to someone else. The new guy.

Seriously?

Zeke drifts up beside me, following my gaze. “What’s up?”

“Who’s that?” I ask, tucking my basketball under one arm.

“Oh—Gabe?” Zeke squints, then nods. “Yeah, I saw him and Troy talking before class.”

“About what?” I inquire.

“Break, I think? It sounded like they went on the same cruise.”

I blink in surprise. “Troy told me he and Coach practiced, like, the whole time.”

Zeke shrugs. “That’s just what it sounded like.”

We continue walking. The crowd thins as we reach the lobby. I glance up at the board and see a massive Winter Musical sign-up sheet pinned dead center. Sharpay’s name is scrawled across nearly every slot—twice in a few cases. Her brother’s appears once at the bottom, neat and plain.

I snort. “Like anyone else is even going to want to audition.”

Before Zeke can respond, a voice cuts through the noise. “—It’s in my paperwork!”

We both turn to look.

Ryan Evans stands in front of the main office, arms crossed and eyes stormy. He’s locked in a standoff with Principal Matsui.

“Mr. Evans, you know the dress code,” Matsui says, pointing at the oversized laminated poster on the wall. “Hats are not permitted inside the building. If you refuse to comply, I’ll assign detention.”

Ryan rips off his cap, jaw tight. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters. “You don’t say anything to anyone else. Look at Chad—he’s in a tank top and shorts, no backpack, no books, and carries a basketball around like a security blanket. But that’s fine, right? Because he’s not me.”

Okay, first of all—what do I need books for? I’m here to play ball. Still, I edge a little closer. They’re talking about me.

Matsui doesn’t flinch. “This isn’t about Chad.”

Ryan rolls his eyes, muttering something I can’t catch.

“And for that attitude,” Matsui adds, “you’ve earned detention anyway.”

Ryan starts to protest, but I step in, grinning. “Hey, Principal—whoa, what’s that?” I point to a line of pink skin showing through Ryan’s hair. “Are you balding already?”

I laugh, turning to Matsui with mock horror. “Must be bad genes. Not like you, sir.”

Matsui chuckles and claps me on the back. “Get to the gym, Danforth. Coach Bolton’s waiting.”

“Yes, sir. Have a great day!” I reply.

As he walks off, I glance back at Ryan. He’s yanking his hat back on, eyes locked on me as if he’s trying to set me on fire with his glare. All this over detention?

I hesitate. He looks ready to explode. “No, but seriously—what is that?” I ask, nodding toward his head again.

Ryan makes a sharp, strangled sound—part groan, part snarl—then storms off without a word.

Weird.

Whatever. I toss the ball to Zeke and head for the gym. Practice doesn’t wait.

***

We jog into the gym, the sound of our sneakers squeaking against the glossy hardwood floor as we cross half court.

“Chad! Where’s Troy?” Coach calls out before we even reach the benches.

I blink, realizing that Troy should have been here by now.

Before I can respond, the door slams open behind us.

“Right here, Coach!” Troy jogs in, breathless and grinning.

As he passes by, I raise an eyebrow. He just shrugs and gives me that easy smile.

Coach doesn’t press the issue.

“Fine. Get changed. Partners,” he instructs.

We head for the locker room. Coach disappears into his office, leaving us to our own devices, which means Troy’s in charge today.

I drop onto the bench and start untying my shoes.

“Dude,” I say, leaning over and keeping my voice low. “Who’s Gabe?”

Troy stiffens for just a moment.

“The new guy?” he replies, feigning ignorance.

I nod, peeling off my shirt and grabbing my practice jersey. “Yeah. The one you ditched me for after class. What was that about?”

He takes his time changing into his jersey.

“He just... needed help finding his way around,” he says nonchalantly.

I pause halfway through putting on my shorts.

“Since when do you give school tours?”

Troy shrugs, appearing too casual. His eyes remain focused on his locker.

“He asked,” he responds.

The silence stretches, long enough for the smell of sweat and old socks to hit me.

Then he slams his locker shut.

“Five minutes! Pair up!” he shouts, banging on lockers as if nothing happened.

I shake my head, finish changing, and jog out after him.

The rest of the team rushes past, scrambling for the court. There’s no time to bring up the Gabe situation.

Troy and I partner up like always and run through a few drills.

But something feels off.

He misses blocks, his passes are sluggish, and his shots are wild. When I try to push past him, he barely reacts.

During a fast break, I slide in next to him, keeping my voice low.

“Dude, what’s going on? I thought you practiced over break.”

“I did,” he snaps, a bit too quickly.

He spins and takes a shot—no preparation, no rhythm.

The ball clangs off the backboard and bounces out of bounds.

I stop, feeling sweat trickle down my spine, hands on my hips.

“Seriously?” I nod toward the ball. “Get your head in the game.”

Troy exhales sharply, frustration etched on his face. He jogs after the ball, resets, and shoots again—this time with more force than precision.

I leave him to it and join Zeke and Jason for a two-on-one drill. I might as well get some real practice in.

***

After practice, he vanishes again. One moment, I’m walking to the locker room, and the next, I catch a glimpse of him near the door, slipping into the back hallway. He’s laughing—really laughing. I can’t see who he’s with, but I can take a good guess.

Chapter Text

Sharpay is always meaner after breaks.

Don’t get me wrong—she’s a great friend. Fiercely loyal, incredibly creative, scary smart. But every time we come back from a long weekend or vacation, she’s ten percent more intense. I don’t know if it’s too much time with her parents or if she’s just bracing herself for East High again, but for the first few days, she snaps at anyone who breathes wrong.

Which is why I’m sneaking off to the rooftop garden for lunch.

Most students don’t even know it’s here. Only the ones who’ve taken—or are currently taking—Mrs. Rind’s Botany class. It’s technically used during fifth period, but it’s usually quiet, peaceful, and completely ignored by the rest of the school.

Perfect.

I head up the stairwell with my lunch tray in one hand and my headphones over my ears, listening to the latest version of my song for the musical. It’s my first time composing, so I keep tweaking every note. It has to be perfect.

But when I round the last corner, I stop dead.

First of all, I didn’t know Troy Bolton even knew this place existed. So what is he doing here?

Secondly—who is that? I’m observant. I know this school. I’ve never seen that guy in my life.

And third—most important—were they just holding hands?

Because that’s definitely what it looked like. And sure, I hold hands with my friends sometimes. But they let go so fast you'd think the bench caught fire. And their faces do not say “nothing to see here.” Of course, I’m probably not helping with whatever wide-eyed expression I’m wearing right now.

I try to school my face, pull down my headphones, and clear my throat—just enough to make sure my voice still works.

“Am I... interrupting something?”

Troy steps toward me quickly, his hands landing on my shoulders.

“No, no, not at all,” he says, too fast. He glances back at the other guy.

“I’m not quite ready for full East High cafeteria chaos,” the stranger says. “Troy was showing me a quiet place to eat.”

I nod slowly.

Troy sidesteps past me, almost trips on the top stair, gives the most awkward wave I’ve ever seen, and bolts.

I turn to the other guy.

“Mind if I join you?”

He shakes his head. I sit down at the opposite end of the bench and hold out my hand.

“I’m Kelsi.”

He takes it. “Gabe.”

We eat in silence for a bit. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, just quiet. Thoughtful.

Then he says, “We weren’t as slick as we thought we were... were we?”

I laugh under my breath and shake my head. “No.”

He doesn’t eat for a while. Just stares out at the parking lot like he’s a hundred miles away.

“I won’t tell anyone,” I offer.

He looks over, surprised. “Really?”

I nod, and hand him an Oreo. “It’s none of my business.”

He takes it with a small smile.

It’s the easiest friend I’ve ever made.

***

When the final bell rings, I wait in the lobby for Gabe. I promised him at lunch I’d walk him to detention.

“Kelsi!” he calls.

I jump a little and wave so he can see me over the crowd. Being short has its disadvantages.

He weaves through the flood of students and reaches my side.

“You ready for your punishment?” I ask, already turning toward the back stairwell.

“Not even a little,” he laughs, falling into step. “Seriously though, thanks for showing me. I’d hate to get in more trouble just for being lost. Who gets detention on their first day?”

“It’s really no problem,” I say, even though I’ve told him that at least five times. “I’m headed there anyway. I work with Mrs. Darbus after school most days for the musical.”

“Musical?” he asks as we head down the stairs. “Are you in it?”

“No!” It comes out louder than I meant. I cringe a little. “Definitely not. Stage stuff isn’t for me. That’s more Sharpay and Ryan’s thing.”

“So what do you do?”

“I’m composing it. Writing all the songs.”

We pass the theatre classroom—Gabe’s homeroom—and head toward the auditorium.

“That’s really cool,” he says, nudging my shoulder.

“It’s fun,” I admit. “But also kind of stressful. It’s fine, though—Sharpay’s been helping. She had this idea to make one of the songs faster, more upbeat...” I trail off. “You probably don’t care about any of that.”

Gabe stops me gently with a hand on my shoulder. His voice is quiet but steady.

“I do care. That’s great.”

I smile, small but real, and push open the auditorium doors.

“We’re here.”

***

“Why can’t we just sit in silence and think about what we did?”

I glance up from the piano as Chad argues with Mrs. Darbus, arms crossed like he’s been personally wronged by detention.

“Since when do you think?” Sharpay snaps.

Chad responds with a series of sounds that I think are meant to be clever. They’re not.

“Each of you earned this punishment by doing something selfish,” Mrs. Darbus says, tossing the end of her scarf over her shoulder like punctuation. “You’ll make up for it by doing something productive for others. This musical won’t build itself. I’ll take all the help I can get.”

Sharpay and Ryan break off from the group and head toward the sparkly ladder they’d been working on before break. For them, this isn’t detention—it’s bonus stage time. Chad and Troy are the actual punishment.

“So… you want us to make leaves for a tree?” Troy asks.

Chad looks like he might bolt for the exit.

“No, of course not,” Mrs. Darbus replies, far more calmly than I would. “The leaves are already made. You just need to climb the tree, take the stapler and the leaves, and attach them.”

She holds out the stapler. Troy takes it slowly. Chad hugs his basketball like it can protect him from manual labor.

“Where?” Troy asks, eyeing the tree like it might bite.

Mrs. Darbus takes a breath, steady and deep.

“On the branches, you idiot!” Sharpay calls from her ladder.

Mrs. Darbus turns away like she didn’t hear that. Troy and Chad retreat toward the tree without another word.

“What about me?” Gabe asks.

“Can you paint?” she replies.

He hesitates, then nods. “Sure.”

She hands him a brush and a can of dark gray paint, guiding him toward the moon backdrop and pointing to the sections that still need filling.

Good. Now she can finally join me, and we can start the actual work.

“Kelsi, dear,” she says, slipping her glasses on as she approaches the piano, “let’s see that new song.”

I’m barely three notes in when the auditorium door bangs open.

Coach Bolton storms in, shouting for Troy and Chad to get down from the tree.

They weren’t exactly helping, but still—Gabe glances over, and for a moment, he looks genuinely disappointed to see them go.

Chapter Text

Something has to be done.

Other people might be content to let the new boy trail after Troy Bolton like a lost puppy, but I am not. It’s only a matter of time before the rest of the school starts asking whether that look in Gabe’s eyes is really just admiration for a basketball player.

Spoiler alert: it’s not. And once that secret gets out, things are going to get very difficult for him.

And let’s be honest—kids being kids—Ryan will get dragged into it too.

No. That won’t happen. Not on my watch.

Gabe clearly needs help finding the right place for himself at East High, and I’m going to make sure he finds it. I’ll show him there’s room for everyone—as long as they understand that the basketball boys don’t swing that way.

Or at the very least, they’d never admit it if they did.

Which is why I’m pulling into the school parking lot thirty minutes before the second day of classes even starts. That’s why Ryan is glaring at me from the passenger seat like I’ve dragged him out of bed at midnight. And that’s exactly why I slide my very cute, very pink convertible into the second-closest spot to the building.

The closest spot is already taken. Coach Bolton likes to run “optional” morning drills with Troy. But the second spot? That’s normally reserved for Chad.

He won’t know it’s been claimed until it’s too late to do anything about it.

“Sharpay, you’re going to get detention again,” Ryan mutters as I turn off the car.

“So what?” I say, pulling out the keys. “We need extra time to finish the ladder. And there are plenty of other things that still need doing for the musical.”

I open my door, swing my legs out, and shut it with a snap. I hold out my hand. Ryan drops my bag into it, and we make our way toward the school.

The walk is much shorter today. A little victory.

“You could’ve parked literally anywhere else and still ‘volunteered’ to help,” Ryan points out.

I stop, turn to him, and rest my hand—keys and all—on his shoulder, the picture of wounded innocence.

“Oh, no, Ryan. That would ruin my image. Sharpay Evans does not ‘volunteer.’”

With a dramatic huff, I spin and continue my power walk to the front doors.

The halls are mostly empty. A few kids are wandering around, but none that matter. It’s oddly quiet.

I shake off the weird feeling and head toward the back stairwell. Ryan follows, just a few steps behind.

Down the stairs, around the corner—there it is. The drama room. The door is open. Thank goodness.

But just as I move to step inside, Ryan stops me with a hand on my shoulder.

“What if he’s not even here?” he asks.

I turn, eyes narrowed. “He got detention on his first day. I’d bet my wardrobe he showed up early to make up for it.”

I whirl back around and stride into the room like I own it.

Honestly? I kind of do. I’m one of Mrs. Darbus’s star students. The stage is basically my second home.

And there he is.

Gabe, sitting alone in the back row.

I glance over my shoulder at Ryan and give him another huff, louder this time.

Let the intervention begin.

I drop my bag in my seat and make my way to the back of the room. Ryan follows.

I plant my hands on Gabe’s desk and lean in over him. Ryan slips into the seat to his right.

Gabe looks up from whatever book he’s reading, eyes flicking between us—nervous, unsure.

“Stay away from Troy Bolton,” I say flatly.

His face twists in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Okay. That came out worse than I intended.

“What she means to say,” Ryan cuts in, “is that you can do better.”

Gabe glances at him. “Like you?”

I laugh. I can’t help it. “Please. You’d probably throw up if you stepped on stage.”

It takes him a moment to respond. For a second, I think I’ve messed this whole thing up.

But then he nods. “You’re probably right about that.”

“So what are you good at?” Ryan asks. Then he gives me a pointed look—sit down, you’re scaring the kid.

I sit.

“Science and math, mainly,” Gabe says.

“Perfect!” I snap my fingers. “Our Decathlon team is amazing.”

Gabe doesn’t look sold.

“Don’t they need a new member?” Ryan adds, more gently.

I nod. “Yeah, and you’d be a great fit.”

Gabe hesitates, then shrugs. “I really don’t want to be the freaky genius again.”

Well. There go my plans.

“There’s always going to be someone who thinks you’re weird,” Ryan says, calm and matter-of-fact. “So you might as well do what you like. The Decathlon team isn’t made up of outcasts. Not really. Not like... me.”

Gabe studies him for a second. “What makes you an outcast?”

Ryan glances over at me. I reach out and squeeze his hand.

This is what the kid really needs to hear.

Ryan turns back to Gabe. “I’m gay.”

“Oh.” Gabe lowers his eyes to his book again.

“The basketball team,” I say, filling the silence, “they run this school. And they are decidedly not gay.”

“And that’s why I should stay away from Troy?” Gabe asks.

“Troy Bolton is the captain of the basketball team,” I say instead. “And the team is who I watch out for when I’m protecting my brother.”

Gabe nods slightly, eyes still on the page. “Thanks. For the advice.”

I stand and pivot, already halfway down the aisle.

Ryan lingers for just a moment longer. “Good luck,” he says softly. “With whatever you decide.”

It isn’t long before other students start shuffling into the room. A few glance at me and Ryan, clearly wondering why we’re already here. One look from me shuts down any questions.

Kelsi bursts through the door. “Sharpay!” she squeals.

My head lifts. “Is it ready?” I snatch the sheet music from her outstretched hand. The newest song—Bop to the Top.

“I think so,” she says, handing over her headphones and iPod. “I wanted you to hear the latest recording. I think you’re gonna love it.”

Ryan leans in, turning one earpiece to him while I take the other. We listen.

Kelsi drifts to the back of the room, where—of course—she’s chatting with Gabe like they’ve been best friends for years.

Since when is she social?

The song ends. It’s everything I hoped for and more. But instead of saying anything yet, I let my ears wander to the conversation behind us.

“What do you think of Decathlon?” Gabe asks.

“Oh, we have a great team!” Kelsi says brightly. “Why, are you interested?”

Gabe shrugs. “Maybe.”

“That’s great! Taylor McKessie—she’s the captain. She’s the one to talk to.”

“Taylor?” Gabe repeats. Kelsi nods. “Yeah... she’s in my chem class, I think.”

I spot Troy entering and call out, “Kelsi!”

She hurries over.

I hand back her iPod and headphones. “It’s perfect. That’s the number for our ladder, right?”

Kelsi nods. “Yeah. It'll make a great visual—”

“—representation of our rise to the top,” I finish. She nods again, eager.

“Let’s run it during free period. I want to be ready for callbacks.”

“Auditions are tomorrow,” she says gently.

I turn to her, smile fading. “I’m well aware that auditions are tomorrow, Kelsi. But callbacks happen after auditions, do they not?”

She nods quickly.

“And I’d rather be ahead of the game than already behind. Got it?”

She nods again, eyes wide. I wave her off, and she scurries back, pausing just long enough to give Gabe a little wave on her way.

At the front of the room, Troy takes his seat. He keeps glancing back—but Gabe doesn’t look up from his book.

Good.

The bell rings. I flip my phone shut and slip it into my bag. No need to get caught texting when Mrs. Darbus makes her entrance.

She’s halfway through her usual dramatic welcome—this time about auditions—when the door bangs open.

“Get your Polly Pocket car out of my spot!”

Chad stands in the doorway, glaring daggers across the room.

All eyes turn to me.

Chapter Text

She’s smiling.

She’s actually smiling at me.

This Queen Bee wannabe is sitting there with that smug little smirk because I’m late. And it’s all her fault.

“Mr. Danforth,” Darbus says, glaring over her glasses, “this will be your final warning about tardies.”

“But—” I flail an arm in Sharpay’s direction. “She—ugh—my spot!”

“If you are referring to Mrs. Evans,” Darbus says, making slow, dramatic circles in front of my face with her hands, “she is sitting in her assigned seat. As you should be, Mr. Danforth.”

“My parking spot,” I snap.

Darbus dabs a handkerchief at her cheek like my voice has physically offended her. “Well, then perhaps you should arrive earlier. Your seat, Mr. Danforth.”

I let out a groan-scream hybrid, slump into my desk, and fold one arm under the other so I can discreetly flip off the princess without Darbus seeing.

I hear a sharp, high-pitched huff from Sharpay’s side of the room.

Mission accomplished.

* * *

The second the bell rings for free period, I shoot out of my seat and jab a finger in Sharpay’s face.

She jumps back like I tried to slap her, her pretty-boy brother stepping up to steady her.

“Get your keys. Now,” I growl.

“Or what?” she says, cocking an eyebrow.

Oh, she did not just ask that.

I step in, finger almost touching her nose. “Or I’ll tell Principal Matsui someone illegally parked in my reserved spot. Your little Barbie car gets towed.”

She glances over her shoulder at Ryan. I follow her gaze—

And suddenly, his face is way too close to mine.

“Ew.” I shove his head back and take a step back myself. “Personal space, dude. I don’t need... whatever it is you have.”

Sharpay snatches her keys and steps right up to me. “Fine,” she snaps, “but only if you stay away from my brother.”

I scoff, glance at Ryan again. “Gladly.”

I turn toward the door, and she trails after me.

At the doorway, I pause and glance back toward the room.

“Troy!” My voice comes out louder than I mean, frustration bleeding into it. He snaps his head up from where he’s still talking to Gabe.

“Come on, Troy,” Sharpay calls over her shoulder. “Chad can’t move his car by himself.”

She rolls her eyes, flicks her sunglasses down like we’re already outside, and strides past me into the hallway.

But Troy’s getting up, so I let it slide.

***

“Dude, it’s like you’re not even there half the time,” I say, venting as I pull my Jeep back into its rightful parking spot.

“I’m right here, Chad.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t there when I called out Sharpay.” I throw it into park and turn toward him. “You bailed after practice yesterday. And you ghosted me at lunch.”

Troy rolls his eyes. “It’s junior year, man. I’ve got homework.”

“It’s the second day back.”

He shrugs and climbs out, taking my basketball with him.

I slam the driver’s door shut and follow. “Something’s different, man.”

“So what if it is?” He tosses the ball back to me, arms tight, like the motion’s more aggressive than casual.

I catch it, raising an eyebrow. “We don’t do different.”

He doesn’t answer—just turns and starts walking toward the school.

I jog to catch up. “Come on, what’s going on with you?”

He shrugs again and flips open his phone, tapping out a message.

I lean over to glance at the screen. “Gabe?” I ask.

He snaps the phone shut and stuffs it into his pocket. “So what if it is?”

I shake my head as we push through the school doors. “Look, man. You’re allowed to have other friends. Just maybe don’t spend all your time with some guy you can’t even tell your best friend about. People might start to think you’re... you know. Gay.”

“Chad!”

I turn at the sound of my name.

“Zeke, man!” I grin, slapping him a high five as we fall into step. “You ready to learn poker?”

Chapter Text

“How did it happen?” I ask, letting curiosity get the better of me.

“Well…” Gabe walks around the piano, his fingers trailing along the edge. “My mom bought cruise tickets as an apology for making us move again.”

I nod. “Yeah, you’ve moved a lot, right?”

“More than I can count.” He sighs, then turns to me with a wide grin. “But she promised we’ll stay here until I graduate. So, you’re not getting rid of me.”

I mock-wipe imaginary sweat from my brow. “Thank goodness. I was just starting to worry,” I say with a laugh, like the idea of wanting him gone is completely absurd—which it is.

“Anyway,” he continues, twirling dramatically like he’s spinning back into memory, “on the last night, there was this huge New Year’s Eve party. One for adults, one for teens.”

He tosses a look over his shoulder to make sure I’m still with him.

“You’re telling me you were on a week-long cruise together and didn’t meet until the last night?” I stand up, full of disbelief.

“My mom had to force me to go to the party,” he says, grinning.

“No,” I shake my head.

“Yes,” he insists, laughing.

“Gabe!” I swat at him through my laughter. “What is wrong with you?”

He throws up his hands in mock defense just as the door swings open.

Troy’s standing there.

Gabe walks toward him like nothing happened, still mid-story. “No, but his mom had to make him go too!”

I clap a hand over my mouth as the giggles bubble over. Troy looks completely confused, which just makes it worse.

“You two are ridiculous,” I say, catching my breath. “You almost missed your meet-cute.”

Gabe laughs and hops back over to my side. “But we didn’t.”

Troy’s still frozen in the doorway. “What’s happening?” he asks, looking more alarmed by the second.

I gesture toward Gabe. “He was telling me how you met.”

“Anyway, I was at the party—” Gabe starts again.

“Why?” Troy cuts in. He hasn’t moved. Still standing stiffly in the doorway, eyes wide.

Oh.

I smack Gabe on the arm. A little harder than I meant to.

“Ow!” He rubs his shoulder.

“You didn’t tell him?” I say, staring him down.

His expression shifts instantly—guilt, caught red-handed.

“Tell me what?” Troy asks.

I turn to him slowly, softening my voice. “I know. About you two.”

Troy swallows hard. “How?”

“Yesterday,” I say gently, taking a step forward. “The rooftop.”

“I was just showing Gabe the garden,” he says quickly, eyes darting.

I tilt my head and smile just a little.

“Was it that obvious?” He asks.

“Yeah,” Gabe says without hesitation.

“Does anyone else know?” Troy asks, quieter now.

“No,” I say. “Just me.”

A smile breaks across his face, small but real. He drops his bag by the piano.

“Mom was mad Coach and I spent the whole cruise playing basketball. She said I had to go do something fun for once.”

“I brought a book,” Gabe adds. “I was reading.”

“And I was just standing there, trying not to look like an idiot,” Troy says, laughing.

“And then this huge spotlight lands on me,” Gabe adds, throwing his arms out.

“And another one hits me,” Troy grins wider.

“And then this random guy tells us we have to sing karaoke together,” Gabe says, cracking up.

I blink. “I’m sorry—what?” I laugh, hard, the image finally clicking into place.

“Yeah,” Troy nods. “Karaoke.”

“I ran,” Gabe confesses.

Troy chuckles and claps a hand on Gabe’s shoulder. “And I followed him out to the balcony.”

They look at each other, and their smiles go soft. I swear the whole room warms up a few degrees.

“We just talked for a while,” Gabe says quietly.

“I don’t know,” Troy adds. “It was the most relaxed I’ve felt in… a long time. I felt like I could just be with him.”

Gabe leans a little closer, still smiling. “And then I showed up here…”

“And, well…” Troy says, and their hands find each other without hesitation.

They intertwine their fingers like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Then Gabe glances over at me, almost like he forgot I was still here.

“Anyway,” he says, nudging me gently toward the piano, “you promised you’d play me that song.”

***

Sharpay’s still in one of her moods, but I decide to sit with her for lunch anyway. I saw Gabe heading up to the rooftop garden, and I don’t want to interrupt whatever’s going on with him and Troy.

I take my time moving through the lunch line. Just because I’m sitting with my friends today doesn’t mean I need to rush.

I’m standing in front of the milk cooler, debating between strawberry and chocolate, when my phone starts ringing. I grab the strawberry, tuck it under my arm, and reach for my phone, flipping it open.

“Hello?”

“Are you coming or not?” Sharpay snaps. “I need your opinion on my audition outfit.”

“On my way.” I snap the phone shut, shove it into my pocket, and head for the stairs to the upper level of the cafeteria.

I’m halfway up when a shout echoes from below—unmistakably Chad Danforth.

“Where the hell is Troy?”

Oh no.

I pick up the pace. At the top of the stairs, I turn left and slide my tray onto the table beside Sharpay’s. I drop my headphones and iPod next to it and immediately pivot toward the back of the room.

“Kelsi!” Sharpay squeals behind me.

“I’ll be right back!” I call over my shoulder as I sprint for the science hallway.

I’m nearly to the garden stairwell when I hear footsteps and voices behind me.

“I saw him go this way,” Jason says.

I throw the door open and stumble into the stairwell.

“Troy!” I shout as I fly up the stairs, skipping steps two at a time.

At the top, Troy’s already turning. Gabe sits behind him on the bench. Both of them look startled.

I point over my shoulder, gasping for breath. “Chad—Zeke—Jason—coming.”

Troy’s eyes widen. He gives my shoulder a grateful squeeze and bolts past me, heading down the stairs fast.

I stagger over to the bench and drop beside Gabe, still trying to catch my breath.

“Sorry,” I wheeze, coughing.

“It’s fine,” Gabe says gently, placing a hand on my back. “Thanks for the warning.”

I take a few more moments to steady my breathing before turning to Gabe.

“I think I’d better stay a minute longer. Just in case they’re still out there.”

He nods, then shifts the subject. “I talked to Taylor.”

“McKessie?” I ask. “About Decathlon?”

He smiles. “Yeah. She said I’d be a great addition to the team.”

I nudge him with my shoulder. “See? Told you.”

He nods again, quieter now. “It could be good for me. To have a group of my own.”

“I think it will be,” I say, meaning it. Then I jab a finger toward his face. “But that doesn’t mean you get to stop hanging out with me.”

“Never,” he says, laughing.

And I laugh with him.

Chapter Text

—Two Weeks Later—

Everything is going wrong.

The moon backdrop looks like it was painted by a fifth-grade art class, the glitter on our ladder is flaking off, and the final song still isn’t finished.

It’s like I’m the only one who realizes the show is in three weeks.

“Breathe,” Ryan says, calmly, like that ever helps. He inhales slowly and nods for me to copy him. “In… and out…”

“What is the tree for?” I shriek, mid-exhale.

Suddenly, Kelsi appears at my side. “We’ll find a place for it,” she says quickly.

“Where?” I snap. “In the finale?”

Her face falls. She adjusts her glasses and turns away without a word.

Ugh.

I grab her arm before she can leave.

“Sorry, Kels.” I take another breath, this one slightly less dramatic. “That wasn’t fair.”

“It’s fine,” she mumbles, still not looking at me. “I need to get back to work on it.”

She walks off, and the guilt hits me instantly. Ugh.

I turn to Ryan. “Let’s run Bop to the Top again.”

If Darbus thinks it's more important to finish a tree that doesn’t even have a purpose, then it’s up to us to make rehearsals count.

Ryan grabs the CD player. I climb the ladder. He presses play, and we launch into it.

The number goes great.

If you ignore everything falling apart around us.

We finish at the top of the ladder, slightly breathless, perfectly in sync.

“Alright,” I admit. “That wasn’t bad. Can’t wait to see what our costumes will be.”

Assuming we ever get any. Three weeks left, and no one's started on them. I'm two seconds away from stealing Dad’s credit card and buying them myself.

A squeal erupts from the other side of the stage. High-pitched, chaotic. A group is gathering in the far corner.

Ryan and I exchange a look. He’s as clueless as I am—but we will find out.

We climb down the ladder as fast as we can and head across the stage. I don’t hesitate to shove people out of my way. Ryan follows closely behind.

At the center of the group, Bettie is holding up her phone like it’s a sacred artifact.

I snatch it out of her hand.

And my stomach drops.

The photo is clear.

The world goes quiet for a beat.

“Ryan, why didn’t you tell us?” someone asks—no idea who.

I glare at the whole group, drop Bettie’s phone back into her hand, and grab Ryan by the arm.

“What—?” he starts, but I don’t let him finish. I pull him away, fast.

“Come on,” someone else says behind us, hand landing on Ryan’s shoulder. “You had to know.”

I slap the hand away and shove Ryan backstage, ignoring his questions all the way to the green room.

Only when the door slams behind us do I finally stop.

He turns to face me, confused and a little breathless.

“What is going on?”

I sit down hard on the couch, one hand pressed to my chest, trying to breathe.

“Gabe and Troy,” I say, eyes locked on his.

“What about them?” He sits beside me, brows furrowed.

I lean in slightly, voice low but sharp. “Kissing.”

***

By the time Kelsi finds us, Ryan’s already had his freak-out.

“I don’t understand,” she says, glancing between us. “Isn’t this good? I mean, if the captain of the basketball team likes guys… maybe people will accept you?”

“No,” I snap. “Now people are going to be confused. Confusion leads to chaos. Hatred. You’ll see.”

“You don’t know that,” Kelsi says softly, her voice shaking a little.

I start pacing, heels clicking against the tile in a steady rhythm. “What I want to know is who took that picture.”

“Why does that matter?” she asks.

“Because whoever it was is trying to start something. It wasn’t a friend—they would’ve kept it quiet. This person wanted to blow it up. They wanted the whole school to know.”

“I mean…” Kelsi looks at the floor. “There aren’t many people who know about the garden.”

I stop pacing. “Where was it taken?”

“The Botany Garden,” she says. “Above the science hall. Rooftop gazebo. I eat lunch there sometimes.”

I move to sit beside her. “Who else knows about it?”

“Anyone who’s taken Botany.”

“How does Gabe know about it? He’s not in Botany.”

“Troy showed him,” she answers, without hesitation.

I raise an eyebrow. “And how do you know that, Kelsi?”

She freezes.

“Well…” she starts.

“Did you do it?” Ryan asks, his voice tight. His eyes wide.

“No! No.” She reaches for him, hands on his knees. “I promise. I just… I’ve known about them. For a while.”

“How long?” I ask, voice cool.

“First day of the semester,” she admits.

I turn away. Processing.

By the time I’d talked to Gabe, it had already been too late. He was just careful. But apparently not careful enough.

I rise again and resume pacing.

“Who else knew?”

“No one,” Kelsi insists. “Seriously. No one. I helped them keep it quiet—they weren’t ready.”

“What about Chad? Taylor? Their best friends. They told you but not them?”

Kelsi lets out a dry laugh. “You think Chad would take this well? Or Taylor? No. They wanted it quiet.”

I stop cold. “So someone else found the rooftop… and took a picture of them without them knowing.”

“I guess,” she says with a shrug.

I snap my fingers. “I want a list of everyone who’s taken Botany.”

I grab Ryan’s shoulder and pull him to his feet.

“Sharpay—” Kelsi stops me. “What good will that do?”

I turn to her, my voice low and deadly clear.

“I want to know who hurt my brother. Who outed a couple that wasn’t ready to be seen.”

I pause, eyes locked on hers.

“I want to teach them a lesson.”

And then I storm out.

Chapter Text

I sit in silence, poking at my bacon and eggs.

Mom finally slides into the chair across from me, a fresh cup of coffee in hand. “I have to say,” she begins, pointing her fork at me, “this is a nice change. You—” she gestures again— “up early enough to eat with me.”

I snort, take another bite of eggs, and mumble around them, “Didn’t sleep.”

She pauses mid-chew. Her face tugs into a look I know too well—concern disguised as casual.

“Is everything alright?”

I roll my eyes. “Fine.”

She doesn’t want the real answer.

“Okay,” she says, not even trying to hide her doubt, but she drops it. Instead, she nods at my shirt. “Cute.”

I groan. “It’s not cute, Mom. It’s cool.”

I grab my plate and carry it to the sink, rinsing it like I care. I glance down at the shirt again. Bright red. Blocky white letters across the chest:

CHICK MAGNET.

I hesitate for half a second.

Too late now.

I snatch up my keys and basketball, lean in to plant a quick kiss on her cheek, and head for the door.

“Oh!” she calls after me. “You’re still staying at Troy’s tonight, right?”

I pause, hand still on the doorknob. My jaw clenches.

“No.” I force a laugh that sounds way too dry. “I think he’ll be busy. Friday’s a good night for dates.”

She appears in the hallway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised. “And when did Troy get a girlfriend?”

The words slip out before I can stop them.

“He didn’t.”

Then I’m yanking open the door and stepping into the morning air before she can ask anything else.

***

I get to school about fifteen minutes early.

I don’t get out of the Jeep.

I’m not ready to deal with it.

Any of it.

Honestly, I might never be ready.

A loud bang on the passenger door jerks me out of my thoughts. I flinch.

“Jesus, Zeke,” I exhale, hand still on my chest. “Don’t do that.”

He just grins, pops the door open, and climbs in.

“So,” he says, too casually, “you talked to Troy yet?”

My head snaps toward him. “No! Why would I?”

He shrugs. “You’re his best friend.”

I look away. “Yeah, well… he looked pretty friendly with that guy he was macking on.”

Even as the words come out, I wince.

I don’t know what I’m saying. Or why I’m saying it like that.

Zeke places a hand on my shoulder. “Hey. Maybe talk to him before you start throwing punches.”

I nod, like I agree.

“Right. You’re right.” I open the door, jump out, and start walking toward the school. “Maybe he’s not too far gone. We just need to find him a nice girl.”

Behind me, I hear Zeke slam the Jeep door. He jogs to catch up.

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“No, dude, I get it.” I glance at him sideways. “Troy’s still my best friend. He just needs a little nudge back onto the right path.”

Zeke lets out a long breath. “Man… this isn’t gonna go well.”

“It will,” I insist, walking faster. “It will.”

***

I’m almost to the drama room when I spot Troy standing just around the corner.

I jog up, throw a hand on his shoulder. “Troy—”

Then I see who’s standing on the other side.

Gabe.

I freeze for half a second before I scowl and size him up.

“Stay away from my boy,” I snap. I grip Troy’s shoulder harder, turn him around, and steer him toward class.

“Dude,” I say as we walk, “we’ve got to get you straightened out. Quick.”

“What?” Troy’s face twists—confused, maybe even hurt.

I stop him just outside the classroom. “Look, I know things are… weird right now. But I’m here, man. We’ll turn this around.”

“Chad,” he mutters, brushing my hand off as we step into the room, “what are you talking about?”

Before I can answer, some kid across the room pipes up, “Hey, Troy! Maybe let Ryan pick your outfits next time.”

Laughter explodes around him.

“Watch it!” I bark, loud enough to shut them up.

Troy turns to me, eyes wide. “Chad… what are they talking about?”

I sigh, already annoyed. “You, man.”

He still doesn’t get it.

I pull out my phone and flip it around to show him the photo.

His face goes pale. He drops into his seat like his legs gave out. His hands go to his hair.

“How—” he stammers. “Where did you get that?”

I slide into the desk behind him, lean in. “It’s everywhere, dude. Someone sent it to the whole school.”

He looks back at me, searching. “You’re still my friend?”

I put a hand on his shoulder, keep my voice low. “Dude, we’ve been friends forever. I know this isn’t you.”

His throat bobs as he swallows hard, and I see the shine in his eyes before he ducks his head.

I jab a finger toward him. “No. Don’t start that. That’s not helping.”

He looks back at me, voice tight. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m glad you asked.”

I sit up straighter and scan the room, eyes sweeping the crowd for a girl—any girl—that could shut this rumor down. Someone easy to believe.

Nothing good. Not in here, at least.

Then the doors open, and in walks Sharpay Evans in all her terrifying, perfectly-accessorized glory.

Bingo.

No one’s calling Troy gay if he’s dating her.

“Sharpay!” I wave her over.

She gives me a look that could turn someone to stone.

Troy glances at her, then back at me. “Sharpay? What does she have to do with this?”

She arrives at our desks, Ryan trailing behind her.

“What?” she snaps.

Ryan opens his mouth, but I cut him off with a wave. “Ew, no. Definitely don’t need you.”

Ryan rolls his eyes and heads to his desk without a word.

“What do you want, Chad?” Sharpay asks, even sharper now.

“Dude, seriously,” Troy says under his breath. “What are you doing?”

I turn to Sharpay with the biggest smile I can fake. “Don’t you think Troy’s a pretty handsome guy?”

Troy groans and drops his head onto the desk.

Sharpay blinks, then narrows her eyes. “Whatever you’re trying, Chad, quit. Let the guy be.”

She whirls around and heads for her seat with a dramatic huff.

So much for Plan A.

Chapter Text

This isn’t good.

The whole school is on fire with gossip, Gabe’s at the center of it, and Decathlon Nationals are in a week.

This really isn’t good.

Everything was going perfectly. We finally found a fifth team member—just in time—and he was perfect. At least during practice.

Smart. Quick. Calm under pressure.

He was exactly what we needed.

And now? He’s busy getting caught up in drama with basketball players and dragging the entire school into his love life.

If you can even call it that.

It’s not that I care he’s kissing boys. I mean… maybe I do.

But did it have to be that boy?

Why not someone like Ryan? Everyone already knows he’s gay. That wouldn’t be news. But Troy Bolton—East High’s golden boy, the face of the basketball team?

This just isn’t good for the team. For Gabe. For me.

I force myself to sit and redirect my restless energy into tapping out a rhythm with my pencil.

We were supposed to start practice at nine. It’s now 9:06.

He should’ve been here by now.

The rest of the team was here on time. I sent them to the library to work so we could talk privately.

Because we need to talk.

Another two minutes pass. I stand and start pacing again.

Where is he?

Finally, the door swings open.

Gabe walks in—shoulders tense, eyes tired.

And right behind him? Troy Bolton, holding the door.

I level a sharp look at the basketball star. He doesn’t say a word. Just shuts the door and walks off.

“Where’s the team?” Gabe asks.

“Why are you late?” I shoot back.

He lets out a breath and drops into a seat. “I’m dealing with a lot right now.”

“So I’ve seen.” I cross my arms and take a step forward, planting myself in front of him.

He looks up, brows drawn. “You going to make fun of me too?”

“No,” I say, a little softer, dropping my arms. “But I am going to tell you that the last thing we need right now is a scandal. And the last thing you need is a jock filling your head with lies and distractions.”

“Lies?” he repeats, tilting his head.

I double down. “That’s all they’re good for.”

Gabe narrows his eyes. “How do you know?”

I straighten. Turn away.

Why is he questioning me?

“Everyone knows,” I snap, louder than I meant to. “You don’t get a poster of your face in the hallway by being honest and good!”

He leans forward, elbows on the table. “What if he is honest and good—with me?”

I whip around, voice rising. “Trust me. He’s not.”

***

The conversation didn’t go exactly how I planned.

Gabe is still completely wrapped up in Troy.

He says he doesn’t care about the stares or the whispers.

Says that now the truth’s out, there’s no point pretending anymore.

Says that as long as Troy wants him, he’s not going anywhere.

Well, I don’t think he’s seeing clearly.

He doesn’t know how cruel people can be.

He doesn’t know how badly it’s going to hurt when the basketball team—and probably the coach, too—turn Troy against him.

Because Troy’s a jock.

And jocks? Jocks aren’t gay.

Gabe’s in for a rude awakening.

When the bell rings for lunch, I grab his arm. He blinks at me, startled.

“You’re sitting with the team today,” I tell him. “We need to go over flashcards. So don’t run off.”

He nods quietly. “Alright.”

We head to the cafeteria. The second we step through the doors, the noise shifts. Laughter. Whispers.

Eyes.

I keep my head high. It’s not me they’re watching.

“Why are they staring at us?” Gabe leans close to ask.

I smirk. “Oh, no. They’re not staring at us. They’re staring at you.”

“Because of Troy?” he asks, a little too softly.

I nod.

“Is it really that big of a deal?”

I turn fully to look at him. “The biggest. Until now, East High had one openly gay student.”

Gabe glances around, uneasy. “Is that…”

“Ryan Evans?” I nod again. “Uh-huh.”

I walk on. He follows.

“Okay… so what?”

“So,” I say, trying (and failing) to keep my voice down, “you’re stepping into a box you don’t want to be in. And you’re dragging the school’s golden boy in with you.”

“I didn’t tell Troy who to be,” Gabe replies.

“You might as well have,” I snap.

Then I pause, turn, and lower my voice.

“Look… it’s better for everyone if you let it go. Stick to your own stuff. You do Decathlon. Troy does sports. We don’t mix.”

Gabe stops. “And no one gets to be themselves, right?”

I scoff. “Please. You don’t even know who you are. Quit trying to tell everyone else.”

His face hardens. He takes a step back.

And then he turns around and walks away.

“Gabe!” I call after him. “Flashcards!”

But he doesn’t stop.

Across the cafeteria, I catch a flash of motion—Chad Danforth shoving Troy. Then Troy takes off, running after Gabe.

Well.

Those two started it.

Maybe it’ll take a little group mixing to end it.

I square my shoulders, adjust my bag, and start walking toward Chad.

Chapter Text

I’ve got a firm grip on Ryan’s arm as we walk down the science hall toward the cafeteria.

I’m not letting him bolt.

My thumb rubs slow circles over his shoulder, just something to anchor him. To anchor both of us.

“It’s going to be fine,” I say—way too casually, even for me. “No one’s going to notice us.”

“I’ve already heard more homophobic garbage today than I can count, Kelsi. It won’t be fine.”

He’s snappier than usual. But he’s allowed.

I don’t say anything about it. I just give his arm a little squeeze.

“Then you can trust that Sharpay is already compiling a list of enemies and planning their personal doom.” I reach up and tug the brim of my hat lower without thinking.

Ryan copies the motion beside me.

“There’s going to be a lot of names on that list,” he says with a nervous laugh.

At least he’s trying.

Before I can answer, someone barrels around the corner out of the cafeteria—and slams right into us.

My arm slips from Ryan’s. I stumble back, nearly hit the ground—but hands catch me.

“Kelsi, sorry—” Gabe’s voice. He pulls me up.

“It’s okay,” I say, steadying myself and placing a hand on his shoulder. “What’s going on? I thought you were sitting with Decathlon today?”

Gabe glances between me and Ryan. “Yeah, well… Taylor was a little too vocal about her opinions for my taste.”

“Yeah,” Ryan mutters. “Everyone is today.”

“Sorry, Ryan,” Gabe says, turning toward him. “I’m really sorry you’re being dragged into this.”

Ryan shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s not like you asked for any of this.”

Just then, footsteps skid to a stop behind us.

“Gabe—” Troy. He catches sight of us all, a little breathless. “Hey, Kelsi.”

“Hey,” I reply, looking between the two of them. They’re standing close, but not touching. Not yet.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” I ask.

Gabe shrugs, shoulders high with tension. Troy offers a tired half-smile.

“Just promise not to turn on us.”

I laugh, just a little. “Never.”

Troy squeezes my arm, then glances at Ryan with a look I can’t quite read—something sharp, not warm. Before I can figure it out, he wraps an arm around Gabe and quietly steers him down the hall, heading back toward the rooftop garden.

I watch them go.

For a second, I consider staying behind. Keeping watch. Making sure no one tries to sneak a photo.

But then Ryan clears his throat behind me.

Right. He’s why I’m here.

I loop my arm through his again.

“Ready?”

“Not really,” he admits.

But we walk into the cafeteria anyway.

***

I sit on Ryan’s left. Sharpay takes the seat on his right.

He walked through the lunch line with me, but didn’t get anything for himself.

Now he’s just sitting there, silent, while the rest of us eat around him.

Sharpay tries to keep things light.

“I think the finale’s the perfect place for the tree, Kels,” she says softly, keeping her voice low and bright.

Even musical talk feels risky today—no reason to let anyone overhear.

“Mm-hmm,” I murmur, distracted by the noise below us.

Down on the lower level, the basketball boys are holding court—and Troy is the topic.

“He doesn’t know what he’s doing,” Chad says, way too loud.

“Coach is gonna be pissed,” Jason adds.

Zeke, ever the voice of reason, chimes in. “You really think he’d do it if he didn’t mean it? Gabe’s a good guy.”

“Shut up, Zeke,” Chad snaps. “We don’t need another f-”

I barely have time to process the insult before I feel movement beside me.

Ryan’s head drops to the table just as someone walking past shoves him from behind.

“Did they meet at your musical or something?” a kid jeers. The table behind us cracks up.

Sharpay’s glare could freeze steel. The group instantly backs off, hands raised in fake surrender.

But it doesn’t stop there.

A couple of golf boys stroll past next, talking loud enough for our table to hear.

“You think Troy caught it from him?”

I turn in time to see them pointing at Ryan, stifling their laughter.

“Yeah,” one of them snickers. “I saw them talking the other day.”

“We better steer clear,” the other adds. “Don’t wanna catch it too.”

Like being gay is contagious. Like it’s something dirty.

Before I can react, another wave hits.

The chess team comes down the other side of the aisle. I can tell by their posture—they’re hyping someone up.

Then one of them shouts, “You must be thrilled about this, right, pretty boy?”

Ryan yanks his hat down over his eyes and folds deeper into himself, arms shielding his face on the table.

That’s when Sharpay stands.

She turns to the chess team, eyes blazing.

“Oh, please,” she snaps, loud and shrill enough to stop conversations three tables over.

“Like any of you have a love life worth discussing.”

The insult lands, but she doesn’t stop there.

She notices the entire cafeteria watching—and instead of backing down like I would, she steps into it.

Her voice sharpens. Projects.

“And for the record,” she says, clear enough for every corner of the room to hear, “my brother had nothing to do with the relationship between your precious basketball captain and the nerdy new kid. So quit asking!”