Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The best thing about East High was how quickly a clique could dissolve.
The worst thing about East High?
The prejudice that still remained.
When Ryan had first started attending, he never would have thought either of those things - everyone had been religious about sticking to the status quo. But somewhere between ninth grade and the last Winter Musicale, the barricades had come down. Lunch tables that had once been thickly bordered territory became seats in musical chairs. The lion had lain with the lamb, the star jock had lain with the science whiz. All of those carefully drawn lines Ryan had once had to live-by-or-die suddenly blurred and disappeared. In its wake, nothing but a ‘hey girl, where did you snag those shoes?!’ lay between Ryan and friendship.
The best part was that Ryan had gotten Taylor and Gabriella. They were a study group…or rather, that’s what they told their parents.
In truth, it was more like Ryan’s support group, to rehabilitate his opinion on straight women. Not all of them were teeth-gnashing blonde monsters who took two hour showers and stole his hair dryer. (But enough about his sister.)
Some girls were nice. Some of them made you want to spill all your secrets.
Especially these two.

The bedroom of Gabriella Montez is where we lay our scene. Curtains up on a cream and pastel hideaway on the second floor, packed with Gabriella’s favorite stuffed animals, plastered with goofy pictures of her and Troy Bolton. The bedroom was also stocked with their saving grace; Gabriella’s own personal cable television. There was a reason that he and Taylor always studied here, and not at their own houses. Taylor would always start fully resolved in her homework, but after hour three, she could always be persuaded by a good rerun of General Hospital. Maybe because she was destined to marry a doctor. Maybe because she and Ryan both had an appreciation for a tight pair of scrubs. Whatever the reason, Gabriella was always along for the ride. Despite the fact that she was fiercely smart, Gabriella had a face made for cheeky grins, like a little biracial Tinker Bell. Her dimples were devastating and her laugh tinkled like wind chimes. If Ryan looked like that, he wouldn’t be interested in the academic decathlon. He’d be on the bus to New York, first stop, Broadway. But that was just him. All roads lead to Broadway in Ryan’s brain.

It was sometime between running lines for the Spring Musical, between pizza slices and 12 am, that it had all come out. Or rather, Ryan had. Come out.
Really, he wasn’t to blame. He was emotionally vulnerable. He’d just broken off his very first relationship, and it had been pathetic. It was an e-relationship, with this guy named Paco469, over email and IM. Ryan was going to invent a reason to take the family air miles and fly to Brazil, until Sharpay happened. His sister had hacked into his laptop trying to get the answers to their history exam. She found their correspondence - these long, swoony letters and poetry - read EVERYTHING, and then hired a private investigator. She and the PI had come to him last week and told him of the real owner of Paco469. Some middle-aged pedo in Cali. (Mortifying.)
Sharpay did not need to be so smug, but she was Sharpay. Ryan had endured the heartbreak until he felt as though he would simply burst, and then he’d gone over to Gabriella’s. When their brains had nearly melted from studying, Taylor was finally persuaded to take a break. So then Gabs turned on the soap operas and the giggling started.
Before Ryan could say jazz squares! He and Taylor were describing in graphic detail what they would do to one hunky doctor.

“Ooh, baby, you just know if I got that fine-ass, scrub-rockin’, absolute dish of MAN on his own, it’d all be OVER for whatsherface, okay? I wouldn’t even need a room you know, just an empty stairwell and some extra lip gloss - he’d have to call in sick for the rest of the day, man wouldn’t be able to uncross his eyes, you know what I mean?”

Taylor licked her fingers, smacking loudly.
Ryan was cackling too hard to breathe.
Gabriella, true to form, squealed into her pillow and shushed them, which only egged them on further.

“He’d be saying, Meredith who? The only god-dess I know is -”

She started huffing, running her hands through her hair.

“Taylor, Taylor, ooo, baby, TAY-LOR! Taylor, just like that, gorgeous, yes, YES,”

Ryan shook his head, waving his hands in an all-quiet gesture.

“You think that’s bad, just wait til you hear what I’m gonna do to McSteamy, okay, okay, silence girls, let me work…”

But alas, Ryan was a performer. He committed too hard. He didn’t remember all of it, but… toys were mentioned…positions were suggested… fantasies were unveiled. Before he had thought things through, Taylor was staring at him with her sharp, academic-decathlon-winning eyes. He could see her putting one and two together. Realizing Ryan was queer as a three dollar bill. It’s not like his sexuality was East High’s best-kept secret, but there was a certain level of - hmm - plausible deniability? Like how sometimes he would show up to a basketball game and pretend to look at the cheerleaders. Like how once and a while he would wear a grey linen t-shirt just to make his dad hopeful. There was a line, and Ryan had just blown twenty yards past that line and then some.
He and Taylor stared at each other.
She knew. He knew she knew. She knew he knew that she knew.
All of it communicated in one long look. God, he loved hanging out with girls.
Ryan looked at her, querulous: “Are we cool?”
Taylor blinked back: “Of course we’re cool. Blackness and gay culture have been inextricably entwined for decades. I am a modern woman, and I did a history project on Marsha P. Johnson. In fact, when I am Supreme Justice, I plan on passing rulings to help the conditions of the modern-day homosexual.”
Ryan nodded slightly: “Great.”
He flicked an eyebrow to the left: “But what about Gabriella?”
Simultaneously, they both turned to their friend. Gabriella, from the head of the bed, had her arms wrapped around a carnival-sized stuffed tiger, and looked unnerved.
“Guys? What’s going on?”
Oh, how to break it to the brown-sugar, doe-eyed Disney princess? Her mom collected pink crucifixes, for crying out loud. Her grandpa thought “heck” was a filthy word. How was she going to take this?
Taylor took point. She reached over and picked up Gabriella’s hand.
“Gabby. Have you ever read ‘Mark Has Two Dads’?”
Gabriella looked like she was going to short-circuit.
“WHAT.”
Taylor turned back to Ryan, shrugging.
“Okay, it’s your turn.”
Ryan stared back sourly.
“Oh. Fabulous.”
Ryan was realizing that he had never actually done this before. Sharpay had known before he did. Ryan and his dad had certainly never spoken about it directly. But every conversation they did have it was an unspoken question; his father was checking in to see if he’d gotten over the gayness yet. Yesterday, for example:

“Hey, sport. Been working out?”
“Yeah Dad. Mostly yoga.”
“Ah. R-i-i-ght.”

And again this morning at breakfast:

“Morning, son. New shirt?”
“It’s from the LV spring-to-summer collection!”
“Huh. Just wonderful. At least it’s not pink.”
“Oh, I do have it in pink though -!”
“Shh. Small wins, son. Small wins.”

Now here Ryan was, looking into Gabriella’s confused brown eyes, thinking about how woefully unprepared he was for this conversation. Ryan cleared his throat.

“Well, it’s like this. You know how you girls always feel safe around me? Like at sleepovers?”

He gestured around at the pizza boxes, at their matching sleep sets and his Spider Man plaid pajamas. Gabriella nodded, still looking lost.
“And you feel safe because you know I’ll never try anything, right? I mean -”
Ryan put on a husky voice, leaning in.
“Hey, baby, why don’t we take my golf cart out for a SPIN?”
Gabriella laughed, shoving his arm.
“Yeah, but you’re different though, Ry! You’re…”
Her expression cleared suddenly. She sat back.
“Does this have to do with when Sharpay tried to kiss me at the staff party? Is that-? Are you both -?”
Ryan and Taylor were both shaking their heads before she finished.
“I can’t speak for my sister,” Ryan said, raising a hand.
Taylor pressed his shoulder.
“But no, Ryan’s not like that. Sharpay is just freaky in her own way. Ryan is…”
She left space for him to jump in.
“A friend of Dorothy’s,” Ryan supplied. Gabriella arched a brow.
“I am veryyyy interested in Say Yes To The Dress?” He tried again. Gabriella raised the other eyebrow. She was going to make him say it. He dipped his head into his hands.
“Gay.” Ryan declared, voice muffled by his fingers. “I. Am. Gay.”
Taylor patted his back.
After a long moment, he dared to peek at Gabriella. Her eyes were shining.
(She cried at most things, bless her.)
She scrambled forward and wrapped him in a Lip Smackers scented hug.
Ryan exhaled, and felt the tension go out of him. He let his head droop onto Gabriella’s shoulder. She was small, but her hold was powerful.
“Guys, I’m so sorry,” Gabriella said, both in his ear and to Taylor over his shoulder. She squeezed him.
“You both looked so worried. Gosh, I’m just glad there’s nothing wrong with you!”
She pulled back, tucking her dark hair behind her ears, suddenly looking self-conscious.
“I don’t know much about any of this,” She said, looking to Ryan.
He nodded encouragingly. This was already going so much better than he could have hoped.
“...and we probably shouldn’t tell my mom.”
Ryan and Taylor nodded in unison. Mrs Montez was wonderful but this was not something she would carry well. Gabriella spread her hands, teary again.
“But you’re a good friend. And kind. And whatever else, you’re still a Wildcat.”
She grasped Taylor’s hand, and then his, connecting them all together.
“We’ll stick by you.”
She said, in a tone that brokered no argument. Ryan was glad she wanted kids someday, because she was going to make for a ferocious mama bear.
Taylor burst into relieved laughter.
“Aww… Gabriella… that was perfect.”
Gabriella laughed too.
“We’re on your team!” She cried.
Ryan sucked in air through his teeth.
“Wait, wait, Gabs, no.”
“No?”
“You can’t say that one, honey.”
“Yeah no, that means something different.”
“Oh…oh, sorry.”
Ryan grinned, and let Gabriella hold him again. For the first time since realizing that he was gay, Ryan felt like maybe there was a place for him here.

Chapter Text

"Look, man, all I’m saying is I get it!”
Troy dribbled the basketball experimentally, eyeing the hoop, looking for an opening in Chad’s defenses.
Chad snorted.
“And all I’m saying is you don’t.”

It was a perfect evening, a school night, two weeks before summer ended, and even the crickets seemed to be chirping more excitedly. Taylor was off studying with Gabriella, so his evening was free for a quick game with Troy. School was getting lamer by the hour, and summer had always sang to Chad like a beachy siren, with the promise of free time, shooting hoops in the afternoons, pocket money from their new jobs, and best of all, time spent with his best friend. However, summer was drawing to a close, and that best friend was being a pain right now.
Troy’s dad had turned the floodlights on. The driveway basketball court was pristinely lit. Troy grinned at him, teeth white as the floodlights.
“That Justin Timberlake? Sheesh. Almost made me like guys too.”
Chad scowled.
“You know that I only respect him as an artist and as a musician!”
“And you got his poster hanging in your closet becaaaaaaaause?”
“Be-CAUSE I respect him as -”
“An artist and musician, right, right, yeah, yeah.”
Troy feinted and then made a shot, and Chad blocked the ball but imperfectly, and the two of them scuffled for it, conversation falling away for a few furious moments.
Chad may have been bisexual, or whatever, but he was thankful his hormones never ran in Troy Bolton’s direction.
Sure, Troy was hot, but in a cardboard cutout kind of way. Looking at his friend like that was like eyeing up his childhood teddy bear. Just wrong, on so many levels.
Any time Chad thought there was an inkling of attraction, he would picture this one time when Troy was eleven, where he sneezed into his own pudding cup. Then Chad had watched, in mute horror, as his friend ate a hefty spoonful of his own boogers. That memory was a vaccine against Troy’s hotness.
It had been a year since Chad had told him, but their dynamic hadn’t changed at all.
Well. Except for conversations like this. That is, Troy’s bone-headed, painfully earnest attempts to relate to Chad.
Chad finally snatched the ball and they faced each other again, this time with Troy guarding the basket. Troy scratched the back of his hair, and sweat stuck it up like a cockatoo.
“So. Taylor. How’re things going with you guys?”
Chad suddenly found the pavement of the driveway very interesting.
“It’s- y’know. Yeah. We’re uh, fine. It’s…”
“Uh-huh.” Troy’s face was caught halfway between a grin and a look of pity.
Chad faked a shot, and Troy blocked, smirking.
“You got something to say, Bolton?” Chad challenged, bouncing the ball hard and fast.
He blew his sweat-soaked curls out of his eyes.
“Chad, you’re my brother.”
Chad twisted his mouth and waited. Troy always said stuff like that before dropping hard news on him.
“Taylor’s a nice girl. If you don’t like her like that, then it’s not fair to her.”
Chad scoffed.
“What makes you think I don’t like her?”
He liked her fine. She was smart, brave, smelled nice, had boobs. He just happened to not like the clunking noise her teeth made when she chewed her nails for the umpteenth time. And, okay, he didn’t really like talking to her on the phone. He just didn’t like her voice, fifty percent of the time, when it reached a certain pitch. And he certainly wasn’t looking forward to being on her arm all night for that birthday party next weekend. But he still liked her.
It was fine.
Troy gave an easy shrug, and let the topic drop. Chad backed off from the net and they chased each other up and down the driveway for a minute, until the ball went flying into the Boltons’ hedges. Troy followed behind him as Chad jogged over to go and grab it.
“I had a crush on a guy once,”
Troy volunteered as they looked around.
Chad whirled on him.
“You did not.”
“It was at a gas station. I saw him from behind. He had great hair, too. Really long.”
Chad didn’t bother stifling his laugh.
“Troy. Dude. It doesn’t count if you thought he was a girl!”
Troy looked crestfallen.
“Not even if I asked him what conditioner he uses?”
“No!”
Troy had retrieved the ball. They stood in the yard, staring at each other for a second, and then both of them cracked up.
Chad grabbed his water bottle, squirted some on his head, and tossed it to Troy, who caught it in a practiced motion.
Their laughter faded gently.
Troy sat down in the middle of the driveway, cross-legged. Chad sat down to face him, copying his pose. Troy rolled the basketball towards him, and Chad rolled it back. Some of the things they did together felt ancient. This game, rolling the ball, looking at one another, it had to be carved into Chad’s DNA by now. Maybe it was because of that, because of the safety and the comfortable silence, that Chad had permission to ask:
“Did Gabriella put you up to this? Is it Taylor? Is she worried about us?”
“Nah, nothing like that.” Troy waved away his concern. “I put myself up to this. It’s all good.” Then he pulled his classic, blue-eyed, earnest-puppy-dog thing. Chad groaned.
“Just- if you think you might have feelings for someone else,” Troy said, giving him room to jump in.
“Well, I don’t. I’m with Taylor, ‘kay? So, what I may or may not feel doesn’t count anyways.”
Troy sighed.
“May or may not. Bud, you are not making a strong case for Taylor right now.”
Chad gave him the stink eye, and Troy spread his hands in surrender.
“Okay. Look, all I was doing here is looking out for my right hand man. I know what it looks like when he cares about someone. But hey, what do I know? It’s your life. Do whatever.”
Chad bit down on his tongue. His temper rose, and he tried to remember what that youth counselor had said.
"Smell the strawberries, blow out the candles. Deep breaths. Think before you act."
Troy could be wrong about a lot of things; a play, a penalty, a chemistry equation. But he was always right about this. Feelings. Squishy stuff. Troy knew his heart, and it beat for Gabriella. Chad wished things were that straightforward for him. Attentive dad, a mom he could talk to. A girl he felt uncomplicated things about. Lots of talent, lots of certainty, lots of options.
Chad let the basketball fall from his grasp, and they both watched it bounce away dejectedly.
“Man… maybe things aren’t that simple.”
“Then make them simple,” Troy suggested, shrugging. He meant so well, it kind of hurt. Chad clenched his fists, struggling.
“No. Not- it can’t - I can’t -”
Damn it. His words always deserted him when he needed them most.
“Use your brain, use your words!” Taylor would chide. Which would piss him off even more. What would he even say, anyways? How could he tell Troy the truth?
The people who liked him, he couldn’t stand. And the people that he liked…
Chad got to his feet. Troy looked up at him, face gentle and worried.
“It was a good game,” Chad managed to say, and then stalked away from the floodlights and out into the street. His head was buzzing.
“Chad!” Troy called after him, but he didn’t turn back.

It wasn’t about the bi thing, or whatever. Even though Troy thought it was. It was about a pair of light hands, musician’s hands, and a pair of even lighter feet. About perpetually pink lips. About how much it hurt to want what you could never have. Chad tried not to think too much on that. He tried not to think at all. Stomping down the block, up to the dingy little Danforth house, until he sat down on the front step. His dad would know something was wrong, if he went in right now. He might make his mom worry. Chad took a deep lungful after deep lungful of the almost-summery night air.
Taylor invested a lot in being the smart one. Chad tried just as hard to keep his head down. Keep his head in the game.
Only, during those games, when he and the Wildcats burst onto the court and the crowd roared, he did not search the people to find Taylor’s dark bob. Actually, what really got his heart pounding was the sight of two blonde heads, always together. Chad had thanked his lucky stars when Sharpay started showing up to the games so she could cheer on Zeke. Chad knew who she would drag along. His heart sang for it.

Chapter Text

To understand fully how things had gotten so lame and swoony for Chad, he had to cast his mind back to the beginning of the school year.

If there was one thing Chad knew, it was that nothing good ever happened in the library. Which was why, even though he had a free period this year, and it was one of the few unoccupied places, Chad was here in East High’s parking lot instead, dribbling and tossing his basketball to nowhere.

The free period was actually a big deal for an eleventh grader to have. And boy did the guidance counselor fight him tooth and nail for it. By the end of their meetings, it was like Chad had been to divorce court with the guy - both of them slouched on either side of the desk, staring sullenly at each other, waiting for the verdict. Chad just wanted to get his GED and leave. The guidance counselor wanted him to spread his sparkly angel wings, and fly on the winds of destiny towards an elective that would put him on track to becoming the next astronaut president… or some other fluff like that.
Chad hadn’t really listened to the specifics. The first week of school had been full of forced personality quizzes to determine Chad’s ideal career.
Chad felt kind of bad, because he knew he was a black mark on Mr Counselor’s otherwise spotless record of students. Most of his peers had interests and plans for the future that would make a college scout cream with delight. Troy was dominating the court and singing showtunes with Gabriella.
Kelsi was gonna compose the next great musical hit faster than you could say ‘mamma mia’.
Sharpay was a shoe-in for the next Real Housewives of: Whatever City She Lived In.
Even his fellow slackers had caught the ambition virus. Zeke was doing a freakin’ co-op with a local bakery, and was probably happily rolling croissants right now. Jason was trying out collage in the art room, and needed to be supervised lately because he kept “accidentally” huffing the glue.
Chad had elected to study Chips Ahoy, instead of goddamn photography or some other useless crap.
And he was somehow made out to be the weird one.

Stomping between cars, Chad threw the basketball up in the air, as high as he could toss it. It hung in the air for a beautiful moment, rusty orange against the clear blue sky, taunting gravity, and then just as quickly came rocketing downwards. Chad had misjudged the angle of his throw, which he realized just as the ball slammed into a car’s hood and the alarm went off.
Muttering and swearing to himself, Chad knelt to grab his basketball from beneath the bumper. As the alarm shrieked, Chad squinted at the little punch buggy car, taking in the crystal beads hanging from the rearview mirror, the well-thumbed copy of Eat Pray Love in the passenger seat, the cat carrier sitting empty in the back window, and the “I BRAKE FOR TURTLES ” bumper sticker.
Realization dawned on him too late. Chad turned to run, right as the double doors to the parking lot swung open.

“MIS-ter Dan-FORTH!” A voice, well-projected and trained to reach a theater of people, rang across the parking lot.
Chad turned back, grimacing.

“Hi, Ms Darbus. Uh, great car ya got here.”

—-

Freshly shouted down, and hot in the face, Chad skulked outside of the library, listening to Darbus’s voice pitch up and down as she relayed everything to the librarian. Initially she’d wanted Chad to serve his punishment in the drama room. But all Chad had to say was “Really? Remember last time?!” It was one of those rare moments where a teacher had to admit that he had a point.
He would treasure that memory forever. (insert heavy sarcasm)
Anyways.
This was how he’d ended up in daily detention “until further notice” during his no-so-free period, trapped in the library. A place that you couldn’t cough too loudly, much less toss a ball. This was not a place built for Chad.
Darbus emerged from the library in a tinkle of beads and a look of ladylike disdain. She promptly snatched his basketball, sniffed, and left.

“Jeez, kid, what didja do?”

The librarian had crept up to the door so quietly that Chad jumped at the sound of his voice. The man was a few inches taller than him and probably twenty pounds lighter, with a well-loved sweater hanging off of his frame. He had kind of chalky, sunless skin, a long face, and a shock of brown hair that plumed up from his widow’s peak and receded at the temples. The most startling thing was how young he looked. Chad had assumed, based on Mrs Falstaff, that all librarians had to be one strong gust of wind from crumbling to dust. He hadn’t even known that they’d gotten a new librarian. This guy couldn’t have been older than twenty-seven…his sweater looked older than he was. The only hint of age was the five o’clock shadow and the little crow’s feet in the corners of his eyes, which deepened in amusement as he watched Ms Darbus round a corner.
Chad blinked.

“You’re not gonna scream at me, too?” he asked, and it came out like a challenge.

The librarian made a moue with his mouth and shook his head.

“An enemy of the Darbs is a friend of the library’s.”

Chad stared.

“She used to give me a hard time, too,” The man continued casually, as though they were having a friendly conversation.
“But of course, I’ve shown her, by becoming so rich and successful now.”

He was as dry as a packet of saltines.
Chad fought with his face, not sure if he was allowed to laugh, and the man gave him a wide smile.

“Shall we?” the librarian asked, strolling back into the library.

Wishing he still had his basketball, Chad followed.
They walked through the white column sensors that prevented people from stealing books, which was hilariously unlikely. Chad snuck a look around, realizing he’d only ever been about two steps inside of the place. The librarian was situating himself at a cluttered oak desk near the back. There were two rows of MacIntosh computers on one end, and then just shelves and shelves of dust-collecting books.
Upsides were: lots of overstuffed armchairs, a few loveseat sofas strategically placed around. Movie posters that plastered the windows to the hallway, blocking out the prying eyes of anyone who could look in and catch Chad here. Unexpectedly, there were murals on three of the walls. A cool blue galaxy of swirling nebulas and hand painted stars on one wall. A wide aquarium stamped with exotic fish. And a flat green forest between them both, where Chad could make out a painting of a cheeky looking monkey. He didn’t know the art department did stuff like this.
He resolved not to think that it was cool.
Downsides were: he would have been happier literally anywhere but here. He’d like to be back in the parking lot. Counting lentils in Home Ec. Having bamboo shoots stuck up his fingernails in a basement.

“Triscuits?”

The librarian shook a cracker box at Chad, which drew him over to the desk. Chad shook his head.
He was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. For his full-on, teacher-car-vandalism punishment. Chad remembered that some tigers liked their prey relaxed before they struck, that it made the meat more tender. The librarian, looking not at all like a tiger, stretched his long legs out, leaned back in his spinny chair, and offered Chad his hand.

“Doctor James Finnegan, at your service. Sorry about the detention, vis-a-vis library imprisonment, and et cetera.”

Chad regarded the hand and decided he was going to take it. The librarian’s palm was pleasantly cool and dry, and his grip was sure.

“Are you really a doctor?”

The librarian hooked a thumb over his shoulder to a framed degree on the wall behind him.

“It sure is amazing what fifteen bucks and an Internet connection will get you,”

This time, Chad didn’t have time to stop the laugh, it got startled out of him. The librarian’s eyes crinkled and twinkled at him.

“Don’t say doctor. Finnegan is just fine.”

Chad tried to wipe the grin off his face, but he kind of had a feeling it was too late.

“Ohmigod. Chad?!”

Chad mouthed a bad word, and there was Martha Cox, curly hair down to her waist, Nicholas Sparks novel in hand, looking like Christmas had come early.
One thing that was important to know was that Chad thought Martha was great. She had a wicked sense of humor and even wicked-er dance moves. She was also a terrible gossip.

“WhAT are you even DOing here? Are you LOST?”

Martha had a weird way of emphasizing things when she was excited. On a good day, it was cute. Right now she looked like she was going to explode into confetti, having found a juicy piece of news all on her own. Chad Danforth, pride of the Wildcats, stuck in the library every day. Come one, come all, to see the sorry sight.
Chad had yet to un-freeze when Finnegan rapped the desk with a ruler.

“My dear, I can take that book out for you, have it back in two weeks, hmm? And as for our mutual friend Mr Danforth, your concern is touching. But
Chad is here for an independent study!”

Martha passed over her book, and Finnegan set about scanning it and typing on his monitor.

“An independent what?”

Martha said, looking between the two of them for answers, shaking her mane of curls in confusion. Chad tried to look like he knew what was going on. (It was hard.)

“An independent study! He’s a scholar of the world, doing a part-time placement with me. He’s just here to pick up this week’s material.”
Finnegan made a big show of rummaging in his desk, pulling out a novel, wrapping it in brown paper. He presented it to Chad.

“Study this one, and study it good, my boy. Read it cover to cover. Live it. Breathe it. Chew on the pages if you have to. Absorb it into your very soul.”

Finnegan looked stern. Chad was fighting with his face again. He took the wrapped book.

“Of course, sir.”

Finnegan raised his eyebrows meaningfully at Chad.

“Now, there’s no need to spend the whole period here, but I will need a weekly check-in, just to say that you were here, hm?”

Chad could have shot a hundred three-pointers in that moment. He was getting his free period back.

“Yup. Absolutely. Sounds good.”

Finnegan flicked his hands.

“Now off with you both!”

He and Martha started towards the door. Chad chanced a look back, and Finnegan was bowing to an imaginary audience for his performance. Chad shook his head, grinning. This guy. This guy was kooky, and Chad was okay with it.
Martha had already forgotten about the scandal of Chad being in the library by the time they walked out into the hallway.

“By the way, did you hEAR about what HAPpened with Kelsi and Ryan Evans? It was like, totally cray-ZEE!”
“Sorry Martha, uh, I got class soon, so…”
“Oh, yeah, yeah! Well, hey, good luck with your study thing, and - gosh, is that the time! I have modern dance, like yesterday!”
She raced off, backpack bouncing. Chad exhaled, uncertain of how he’d gotten so lucky in the last five minutes. He remembered the brown papered book in his hands, and unwrapped it. He laughed out loud.
'The Pirates of Penzance' stared back up at him, a raggedy-looking paperback, with a woman in a corset, and the most improbable pair of boobs Chad had ever seen. She was swooning into the arms of an enormous man with a white shirt slit down the middle, looking oiled-up and broody. Finnegan had given him a bodice ripper to study. Chad sighed. He could bellyache if he wanted to, but this was an okay price for his free period. He shoved it into his backpack and tried to forget about it.

The following week, Finnegan handed him a novel called 'Romancing Mr. Clydesdale' while waggling his eyebrows. The book burned a hole in Chad’s backpack that day. He was terrified that one of the guys would somehow sense the weird literature and rip it out of his bag and hold it aloft while everyone else booed. Chad maybe had issues.
Finnegan started pitching books to Chad the next week.

“You’ll like this one,” he said, handing Chad a hardcover with little fleur-de-lis on it.
“It has a swordfight.”

“Really?” Chad glanced at the cover. 'Pride and Prejudice'. Huh.

“You suck.”

Chad said the week after, tossing the book down onto Finnegan’s desk. The guy looked like he’d just been woken from a nap, but still cackled.
Chad shook his head, disgusted.

“Just a bunch of people! Going over to each other’s houses!”

“Whew.” Finnegan dabbed at the corners of his eyes. “Thanks for that, kid.”

He passed Chad the next book. Chad curled his lip. 'The Princess Bride'.

“I guess this one has a whole ton of swordfights too?” he asked sourly.

Finnegan nodded solemnly.

“Many.”

When Chad showed up the Monday after that, he couldn’t talk to Finnegan right away because there was a posse of ninth grade girls, giggling and flipping their hair. This was one way to bring foot traffic to the library. East Side was slim pickings for hot teachers, especially after Miss Montgomery had gone on maternity leave. Chad stepped into the shelves, flipped up his hoodie, and waited. Finnegan said something Chad didn’t catch and the girls screeched with laughter. Eventually they moved off, backpacks jingling.

“What’s with the Shrieking Eels?” Chad asked, and the librarian actually whooped.

“You read it?!”

Chad rolled his eyes and nodded.

“You liked it?!” Finnegan pressed.

Chad tried to tamp down the corners of his mouth, but it wasn’t working. Instead, he drew a ballpoint pen from the pocket of his basketball shorts, and levelled the point at Finnegan’s chest.

“Hello.” Chad said gravely. “My name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father.”

“Prepare to die.” Finnegan recited the last part with him, and that was the beginning of their web of inside jokes.

The joking became so much worse, so fast. After Finnegan passed him A Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy, Chad responded by stuffing bath towels into Finnegan’s desk during lunch. Chad wasn’t much of a reader, but he could skim a chapter or two and find something to say so he could make the librarian laugh. And he’d never tell Finnegan, but sometimes it was more than a few chapters - sometimes it was most of the book. He’d start in the middle, skip to the end, read the first ten chapters. But, dude, it was weird. Sometimes he’d stop counting the words and they’d start flowing like liquid, curling up in his head like a cat in the sun. The letters would stop switching places and somersaulting like they usually did. He even used the word perpendicular in a sentence the other day. Zeke’s eyes looked like they were gonna pop out of his head.
Chad and the librarian got so comfortable with each other that Finnegan stopped wrapping up the novels in brown paper and started just handing them to him uncovered, so Chad could pull up a chair and they could talk about it right away. So comfortable, because no one Chad knew was ever at the library during his free period. Just the coding geeks and girls who streamed anime in the meeting rooms. And the ninth graders who sucked each other’s faces between the stacks. Anyone his age had a PC by now, or didn’t need a PC, or got books from the city library instead. That Monday, Finnegan handed Chad another bodice ripper, this one called 'The Count Who Loved Me', with some vampy looking guy lathering his tongue over a woman’s throat. Chad didn’t think much of it, snorted, asked Finnegan if this was a particularly good read, and traded jokes back and forth. It wasn’t until he was heading out that he slowly registered that Ryan Evans was sitting cross-legged on an armchair, not ten feet away from them. That he had heard the whole exchange, and now saw the book in all its glory, its cover out and obvious in Chad’s hand.
Ryan Evans had absolutely no attachment to Chad and every reason to spill this to the whole school, or blab to that busybody sister of his. Chad was kind of realizing all of this in slow motion. He locked eyes with Evans, came to a stop in front of the boy’s armchair, and realized that if he didn’t think of something very good right now, he was well and truly screwed.

Chapter Text

Chad had turned such a lovely shade of ash, like all the usual warmth from his skin had suddenly been leached out. His mouth hung open a little.
(Jocks were always panting through their mouths.)
Ryan gave him an angelic smile. For once, it was nice to hold all the cards.

“Let’s go,” Chad muttered.

With nothing to lose and everything to gain, Ryan settled his powder blue suede jacket over his shoulders, and made a production of placing all his books just perfectly in his messenger bag. They walked out, not together, but with Chad stalking behind Ryan like he was frog-marching him to an execution.
Chad slammed the door to the shop garage shut behind Ryan. He stared Ryan down, expression thunderous.
Ryan glanced around. The shop was mostly empty; last period had just let out. There were three freshmen working on a car, who stared at them open-mouthed.

“Beat it.” Chad said.

The kids may have known him from the basketball court, but he looked so pseudo-murderous that they scampered off without a word.
The doors clicked shut behind them, leaving Ryan and Chad in silence. A wrench clattered off of the half-stripped car, clanging loudly in the sudden silence.
Ryan recognized the look on Chad’s face from Wildcats games. Game face.
Calmly, Ryan applied some clear chapstick.
Let the negotiations begin.
Chad didn’t say a word, just circled Ryan, and then started stretching, flexing his arms, hamstring exercises. Ryan leaned back against the hood of the car, folded his arms, and enjoyed the sight of Chad’s muscles and legs. Chad walked over to the drawers of shop tools and tried to test out a mallet with a few swings. Ryan and Chad both realized at the same time that it was entirely made of foam. Chad dropped it, and gave Ryan a stormy look.
It took all ten years of acting lessons for Ryan to keep a straight face.
Chad stepped forward, looked to be gearing up to say something, and swallowed. The swallow itself was a whole show plus intermission. His Adam’s apple caught, he nipped his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyebrows lowered, even his hair seemed to bristle.
Ryan reserved the right to (respectfully) appreciate pretty men. He could look at the menu, he just couldn’t order.

Chad pointed a finger at Ryan. Oh boy. Show time.

“If you tell anyone about this, I’m gonna make you regret it - so - hard.”

“Oh my.” Ryan said lightly. Chad bristled some more, (adorably.)

“I mean it! I’m gonna!”

“If I, sayyy, tell everyone you’re BFF’s with the Boo Radley librarian, and that he’s giving you - what?”
Ryan pulled the book from Chad’s hand and giggled.

“Weird, nudie mommy literature?”

Chad made a grab for the book and Ryan pulled it behind his back, wagging a finger at him.

“Ah - ah -ah.”

Chad made a half-hearted lunge. Ryan stepped on his foot and he leapt back like a startled cat.

“It’s not gross like that!” Chad protested.

Ryan stared at him, eyebrow raised, waiting.

Chad stumbled through a half-baked explanation of the car and the detention and his deal with the librarian. His complexion went from ashy to flush as an autumn leaf. Ryan raised a hand when he’d heard enough. Chad planted his fists on his hips (cutely.)

“So you want my silence, so you can have this little discounted reading arrangement in peace,” Ryan summarized.

Chad glowered (adorably.). Ryan decided to make things simple for him.

“You want to follow the Reading Rainbow with Mr Finnegan. I want my Moped to stop being vandalized by your little cronies. Perhaps we can start there.”

“What?! I’m not the one doing that.”

“Chad. Come on. They do everything you say.”

Chad looked vastly uncomfortable when Ryan used his first name. Like they hadn’t known each other for years. Asshole.

“They’re my friends!”

“They are your lackeys, and you have never liked me. Or at least, what I represent.”

“Fine. What do you ‘represent’?”

Ryan spread his hands over his outfit and struck a little pose.

“Fabulosity.”

“That’s not a word.”

“How would you know, little jock? You discovered books last week!”

Chad puffed out his cheeks in a lip-flapping sigh.

“Dude, you’re getting screwed with ‘cause you drive a moped, like a damn fruit. I can’t fix that. Can’t you drive to school with your sister, or something?”

Ryan widened his eyes at Chad exaggeratedly.

“You think that me coming to school every day in a pink convertible is going to stop the bullying?”

Chad pushed out his bottom lip.

“Oh. Yeah. No.”

He took a step backward, out of Ryan’s space.

“I still don’t know what you want me to do. I never told them to do that.”

Ryan felt his gaze go stone cold. He should be used to a straight doofus trying to wriggle out of responsibility, but somehow, he wasn’t.

“But you knew, though.”

Chad dropped his eyes, staring hard at an oil stain on the concrete.

“Yeah.” He admitted. “I knew.”

They swam in that silence for a moment.

“Okay.” Chad finally said. Ryan looked at him, surprised.

“Okay?”

Chad half-rolled his eyes. He held out his hand for the book.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Ryan stared at him a moment longer. He wanted to enjoy the victory, but he just felt sad. This was the longest conversation they’d ever had, and it was because of blackmail.
Ryan doubted that anything good was actually going to come out of this - guys like Chad had a way of striking back ten times worse, bolstered by wounded pride and pack mentality. In many ways, Ryan had probably just signed his own East High death warrant. He longed for a bath with essential oils. He longed for kindergarten, when you could make a friend in five minutes and be playing like you’d known each other forever.
Ryan sighed and turned to go.

—----------------

Okay, but, like, Ryan Evans was totally asking to be teased. Here he was, standing in front of Chad, wearing blue platform boots, matching flared pants, a silver belt, with a pink and red patterned shirt, carrying his jacket over his shoulders like some girl on a date. Chad couldn’t forget the final piece, a powder blue short-brimmed cowboy hat with a red stitched heart in the center. The hat was actually kind of crazy to look at up close.
Were those rhinestones? Where was he finding these clothes?
Did he really, actually expect to go unnoticed, when he was dressed like a Texan strip-o-gram who sold shrooms?!
Still, as Evans turned to leave, Chad moved forward, pulled by an unseen current. It occurred to him that even though he’d been arguing with a rich white kid, the situation might be stickier than he thought. At least Chad could walk down the hall without becoming an unwanted parade. No one targeted him, not the way the guys targeted Ryan. And of course they didn’t, because they had no reason to suspect. Only Troy knew about Chad. About how he and Ryan were alike. How many times had Chad been at the lockers, shooting the shit, seen Evans wearing something ridiculous, and made a comment? Not thinking that anyone else would hear - but Evans could have, anyone else could have. Had Chad really paved the way for this shit? Knowing it or not?
Abruptly, Chad stopped feeling angry and righteous. His chest went hollow.
'Maybe, right now, I’m not the good guy.'

“Hey.”

Evans paused at the sound of his voice but didn’t look back at him.

“You know, it’s not okay. What people do to you. Just because you’re - you’re - whatever.”

Evans did look back at him now, and didn’t have to say a word, because his face so clearly said: Duh.
Chad’s heart thumped uncomfortably. His ears went hot. He wanted - needed - to say something else.

“I-I’m really sorry.” And then; “I like your hat.”

Ryan turned around all the way, looking surprised. Whatever he had been expecting Chad to say, that wasn’t it. A soft, incredulous smile crept over the boy’s face, like the first rays of dawn. It pulled up on the side of his mouth, lopsided. Maybe it was the afternoon sun through the window, but Chad could have sworn his skin took on a subtle glow. He looked like an old painting, back when they wore ribbons in their ponytails and stuff. Those rosy cheeks and that light in his eyes. It was crazy.

“Okay, thanks,” Ryan said softly.

He tipped his hat for Chad and then walked off, not rushing, back straight.

When the door clicked shut behind him, Chad let all the tension out of his frame, leaning against the nearby shop table. He felt like he’d just done a hundred yard dash. Chad pressed a hand against his chest.
What the hell was that?
He wasn’t asking his brain but his body, the part of him he put the most trust in, the honed muscles and strong joints, the thing that had never failed him before.
His heart’s only response was to hop against his ribs like it was planning an escape. He took a few deep breaths and stowed the novel back in his bag.
His heart lurched and leapt the whole way home. Chad could not make sense of it.

Chapter Text

e=taylormcsquared: hi baby, just a quick reminder that sharpay’s party is 2nite (tonight)!

chads_b-ballzzz: wut

e=taylormcsquared: sharpay evans. her birthday party. well, it’s kelsi’s birthday, but that’s not important. it’s at the evans’ mansion and it’s every year and you have been to three of these parties thus far. this year it’s burlesque themed, whatever the heck that means. it is tonight. you and i, troy and gabriella. are all going.

e=taylormcsquared: ???????

e=taylormcsquared: ???????????????

e=taylormcsquared: CHAD.

e=taylormcsquared: CHAD DANFORTH, ANSWER ME NOW.

chads_b-ballzzz:: uhh

chads_b-ballzzz:: no one told me

e=taylormcsquared: everyone told you. everyone told you. chad i feel obligated to tell you my frustration is rising. i am literally facepalming right now!!!!!

chads_b-ballzzz: no

chads_b-ballzzz: they didnt

e=taylormcsquared: i have told you every day this week. we call every day, every afternoon and i made sure to remind you becuz (because) i just KNEW you were going to try and pull something like dis (this) otherwise!! you cannot pretend not to know about this just becuz (because) you have cold feet today. unless you want to claim that you have been tuning me out every single conversation that we have had in recent memory, you have absolootely (absolutely) NO EXCUSE. not to go.

chads_b-ballzzz: …

 

e=taylormcsquared: ohmiGAWD (oh my god) chad danforth you are driving me CUH-RAZEEE (crazy) you have no idea how badly you are perpetuating double standards for your gender right now, i have been planning my outfits for this event for at least two weeks, it’s all i have spoken about, gabriella and i are so excited to go and your own best friend is coming and you still cannot be even bothered to care???!!! ridiculous. you are being a ridiculous boy. laura mulvey would be so disappointed in you.

chads_b-ballzzz: outfits

chads_b-ballzzz: ?

chads_b-ballzzz: their gunna be a costume change lol

e=taylormcsquared: all you have to do is show up at my house tonight in a t-shirt that doesn’t absolutely reek, and then stand in the corner for an hour and nurse a beer. just like you’ve done every year. it was fine and it will be fine. you are GOING. end of discussion.

chads_b-ballzzz: ok

 

e=taylormcsquared: okay?

chads_b-ballzzz: ya

chads_b-ballzzz: c u den

chads_b-ballzzz: luv u

e=taylormcsquared: i love you too chad. you lunkhead.

 

Chad leaned back from the library’s MacIntosh computer and rubbed his eyes until little stars burst across his eyelids. Now that he thought of it, he had heard of the party, from Martha Cox during his spare, and then a tiny peep about it from Kelsi when she stood at his elbow in the cafeteria. He had known that Taylor was preparing for something, because he’d been over twice this week and each time he’d had to shift the piles of clothes off her bed. Taylor proved that you could be a 4.01 average and also love color-matching headbands and skirts. He really didn’t mind the clothes - it made her bed smell like vanilla Tide pods, and the scent surrounded their makeouts like a light purple cloud. He really didn’t mind his girlfriend giving him a hard time. They were supposed to, right? He just wished she would slow down for a second. Taylor’s thoughts seemed to run on freaking nitro. He just wanted her to hear him out, so he could cobble some words into the right order. So he wasn’t always stumbling behind.

Chad had staked out Ryan’s parking spot this morning. Lurking by a pillar at the building’s entrance, ignoring the rising autumn winds. After ten minutes, the Evans brother tooted up on his tiny deformed dirtbike. The engine of the Moped didn’t even rumble, it made brr-up! brr-up! noises like a gassy baby. Chad made a face.
Ryan looked serious today, and his face wasn’t made for it. The pink earbuds and the magenta Ipod clipped to his belt definitely softened things though. Chad was jarred when he first saw him, because he was used to Evans being a smear of pastel in his periphery. Today he was dressed (sorta) seriously, in a midnight blue sweater vest with silver thread, matching blue slacks, black pleather jacket, and the ever-present fedora. Chad caught a rare glimpse of the top of that blond head, as the boy unclipped his helmet to put his hat on. Finally putting to rest the rumors that he had early male-patterned baldness from the stress of listening to Sharpay every day.
Ryan clipped his helmet onto his messenger bag and then looked up and directly into Chad’s eyes, like he’d known he was there all along. Ryan gave him a solemn nod, and then seemed to shut Chad out. He breezed past Chad, chin raised, mouthing along to whatever was played in his ears.
Chad wondered what he was listening to.
As Ryan moved past him, Chad stalked away, towards that damn Moped. They passed within two feet of each other, eyes fixed elsewhere. The pesky autumn winds kicked up again, and blew the scent of some fanciful cologne into Chad’s face. He screwed up his nose, even though Ryan didn’t smell bad at all. More like cherry lemonade and aftershave. A waft of magenta. Still, he was relieved when Ryan disappeared into the school.
A moment later, Chad leaned his hip on the Moped, and stuck three spearmint gum sticks into his mouth. When Russell and Zeke and Jack showed up, Chad chatted with them about guarding point and fast dribbling. When one of them pulled out a big black Sharpie, Chad snatched it. Without a blink he chucked it across the parking lot. He laughed as Russell chased after it, and after a confused moment, Zeke and Jack started chuckling too. Chad couldn’t help but marvel - it was this easy.
Chad waited until Russell came back, peeled the gum from his mouth, and spread it over the handlebar of the Moped.

“Let him chew on that,” Chad said, like he was in a cop show set in Miami.

Russell chortled. First period bell rang. Chad wrapped an arm around Zeke and then Russell.

“Hey fellas, whaddaya say? Hoops at lunch?”

They all headed inside together. Leaving the Moped - mostly - untouched.

He was late for first period and was doled out the usual lecture on tardiness, and then a quick detour lecture on coming to class with “a self-satisfied smirk”.

Chad was still stuck on the image of Ryan disappearing into the school’s doors as he waited for Taylor to come downstairs.
He, Troy and Zeke all sat sandwiched on the McKessies’ couch, knees bumping. The couch, like the rest of the sitting room, was beige. In the corner was a desk with a desktop computer that looked like it was made from rocket ship parts. McKessie degrees hung over it, along with pictures of the family. Taylor and her sister in Mickey ears in front of the Magic Kingdom castle. Taylor and her mother whitewater rafting. The family posing in front of the Methuselah tree in some distant rainforest. Taylor’s sister Skylar in a cap and gown, triumphantly showing the camera her degree. Next to it were two tiers of shelves installed into the wall, practically groaning beneath trophies - awards from figure skating competitions, karate plaques, youth essay contests, and then as the years went on, at least ten science fair ribbons, young adult STEM awards. You could see Taylor - and her parents - narrowing their interest, honing their daughter’s intellect to a fine point. Everything was boldly printed: Taylor Ann McKessie.
Chad found himself staring down a younger Taylor, clinging to a whitewater raft, eyes wide through the spray of water, holding her paddle aloft. She should have been scared, but she looked joyful, ready to plunge onwards, with her mother supporting her back. Protected, confident, clear-eyed.
Chad may have lived two streets over, but it was a million miles from this room, and all the promises it held.
To Chad’s dismay, Troy had put on a blue button up and jeans. He knew that his friend looking nice would be very pointedly mentioned. Zeke looked regular, but he was carefully holding a white pastry box in his lap. The boyfriend points were not going to him tonight. Chad shifted uncomfortably. He’d tried to turn on the game, only to find that the McKessies didn’t pay for anything other than Stingray Galaxy music and foreign films. ESPN would have been an oasis in the desert right now.

“Come on, girls!”

Troy called up the staircase.

“In a minute!” Taylor hollered back.

A moment later, Gabriella descended the stairs like a tiny pageant queen, grinning so hard it must have hurt. Next to him, Troy caught his breath. He rose from the couch like he was waking from a dream. The two moved towards each other, caught in their own orbit. She really did look good, in a pale yellow sundress, as though the autumn chill didn’t exist.

“Beautiful,” Troy murmured, touching one of Gabriella’s curls.

Even though they weren’t holding each other, just standing close, the look they shared made Chad turn away. Gabriella’s eyes shone. Her smile and her gaze seemed to whisper a thousand unsaid things. All those secrets told, up in Troy and Chad’s old treehouse. Troy looked tender, like he was ready to get down on one knee right then. He was just barely smiling as he brought something out from his back pocket.
Gabriella squealed. Zeke flinched and grabbed his pastry box.

“Purple Hubba Bubba! You remembered!”

“‘Course I did,” Troy said, (like he hadn’t driven to three separate convenience stores right before this.)

Gabriella clutched the package to her heart and gave a big dreamy sigh, staring up into Troy’s eyes like he’d brought her the Hope Diamond.
Chad caught Zeke’s eye and mimed sticking a finger down his throat. Zeke snorted.
Over Zeke’s shoulder, Taylor emerged into the living room to glare at him. Chad took his finger out of his mouth, but it was too late. She didn’t say anything, just pursed her lips.
Chad cleared his throat and scrambled to his feet, looking her up and down.

“You look good,” he said, gesturing to her orange dress.

“The, uh, the ties and stuff,”

(Boobs.)

“I think it’s really working for your…skin…colour.”

(Boobs.) (Boobs.)

“And, uh, uhh, the headband. It matches.”

(Boobs. Boobs. Boobs.)

Taylor rolled her eyes and pushed his hand away from her hair.

“Okay. It’s fine for now, but eyes up in five, all right?”

Chad snapped his gaze up to the ceiling.

“Yeah. Yup. Understood, coach.”

She gave him a wry smile.

“Lucky you’re so cute.” she said, brushing the heel of her hand over his cheek.

Chad smiled back. He turned, fumbling for his backpack.

“I brought you -”

He froze, hand halfway out of his backpack, because Gabriella and Troy had both started gesturing wildly at him. Troy was drawing his thumb over his throat over and over, Gabriella was making a shooing motion and shaking her head, eyes wide.

“Chad,” Taylor said slowly, sounding unnaturally calm.

“Ye-es?” Chad hadn’t had a voice crack like that since he turned thirteen. He heard her stalk towards him, but he was now afraid to turn. He felt like he was in Jurassic Park. (“The raptor’s right behind me, isn’t she?”)

“My sweet boyfriend. Did you bring me…Hot Rods?”

Chad looked down at the twelve individually wrapped Hot Rods in his hand, then back into Taylor’s smoldering glare.

“No?”

“Even though I’ve been a vegetarian since I attended the sit-in about Uruguay centurions. And that was, how long ago, again? Gabriella?”

Gabriella was literally wringing her hands.

“Eight years ago.” She answered.

“And what is the one thing that I truly hate, because of its carcinogenic properties and heavy carbon footprint? Troy?”

Troy winced.

“Processed meats.” He answered.

This was bad. Taylor only started acting like a kindergarten teacher when she was seconds away from going nuclear. Chad dropped the meat sticks back into his bag, and stood slowly.
They say if you don’t make eye contact, and back away slowly, sometimes you can escape unscathed. Taylor advanced, and started to pull one of her hoops out.

“You -”

“Your dad’s here!” Gabriella interrupted, pointing.

You could see the street from the bay window. As if on cue, the minivan let out a polite little honk.
Taylor closed her eyes and took a slow breath. She popped her hoop back in.
When her eyes opened again, she just looked tired.

“We’ll talk about this later.” She told Chad. A promise and a threat.

Gabriella grabbed her purse and Taylor’s, and hurried them both out the front door, casting Troy a worried look over her shoulder.
Zeke, Chad and Troy let out a collective sigh when the door swung shut behind them.

“Dude.” Troy said, clapping his hands over Chad’s shoulders. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m just glad my cake is okay!” Zeke said, rubbing the top of his box.

Chad nodded grimly.

“Yeah. Well, better go to Sharpay’s thing.”

Zeke shook his head, grinning.

“Hey, man, it’s chill. I’ve been to one of these parties before and if it gets too girly Ryan sneaks us into the screening room and we hide out ‘til it’s over,”

Chad froze.

“Ryan’s gonna be there?!”

Troy and Zeke both looked at him strangely.

“Um, he lives there?” Troy said.

Chad faked a laugh but couldn’t get his face to move.

“Right, right. Forgot.”

“Seems like you’ve been forgetting a lot of things lately,” Taylor was at the front door, dripping acid.

“Now. Get in the van, boys.” She glared at the three of them. “We’re going to the party, and it is going to be. So. Much. Fun.”

—-----

About seven hours earlier, that same day, Ryan was dreaming luxuriously.

He was stretched out on a beach of endless white sands, the taste of a virgin mango mai tai on his lips. A strapping gentleman bent above him, his features blocked in shadow, but his touch was sure, and his briefs were tiny. Ryan reached out for one shadowy pectoral, wanting to marvel at the warm skin beneath his fingertips, his fingers hovered over the figure’s chest, building anticipation up for a moment of delicious contact. Something landed on his face.
Ryan sat bolt upright, spitting. It was pink crepe paper. He felt a dawning sense of horror. No. Surely it was too early. It couldn’t be.

“Good morning diva!” Sharpay cried.

She stood over his bed, already fully dressed and bedazzled, and not at all resembling a shirtless beach fellow.
She flashed him her patented movie star smile.
A pink pinata lay on the pillow next to him now, and a second one was stuffed under his sister’s arm. Behind her, three pink balloon arches were squashed against his bedroom’s ceiling. There was a tub labelled EDIBLE GLITTER at the foot of his bed. Cock-blocked by an empty piece of pink cardboard! And he wasn’t talking about the pinata! Ryan was beyond words. He simply glared.

“Party preparations are happen-i-i-ng toda-yay-yay-yay! I just told the guys to put everything in your room for now, ‘kay?”

She twinkled.

Sharpay was never happier than when she was planning something. A party, a dance number, a scheme. Nothing brought her more joy than hiring caterers and confetti cannons. She was in a smart two piece set, Chanel, pink gingham skirt and jacket, with a string of pearls. As though shouting orders for one party had suddenly made her a CEO. She looked like a Barbie, Jackie O edition. Ryan, struggling to sit up, was underdressed for battle, in one of Mum’s old Phantom of the Opera t-shirts and a pair of boxers. He should have known she would prey on him at his weakest hour… six in the morning. Before he’d even had a whiff of his poached-egg-and-English-muffin. The house was already abuzz with movement - he could hear cars crunching up the gravel driveway, could hear unfamiliar shoes clopping up and down the halls, orders being called from room to room. He’d made Saturday study plans just to escape all this before it started, but she had been ahead of him. Ryan’s refusal to take part in the party plans this year had rubbed his sister the wrong way. Not that she would ever admit it.
Sharpay adjusted the headset and microphone atop her fresh blowout. She cleared her throat primly.

“Attention, minions! Today marks a truly fabulous day, of my semi-annual half-birthday celebration! An event that is the highlight of all of East High’s social calendar! A night of prestige, of glamour, of -”

“-Kelsi’s actual birthday, which you claim as your own-” Ryan muttered.

“-of terrific fun and school spirit! This year I have decided, with the spirit of Piper Perabaro and EMC, to host a Coyote Ugly-themed celebration!”

“-also known as, an excuse to wear fishnets and a smokey eye-”

“But we all must do our part to support this totally gorge event, so if I could have the hunky workmen bring the truck around with the smoke machine, the dry ice, and the wax replica of Stanley Tucci, and make your way to the west wing of the Evans mansion, where my brother has so graciously volunteered his room for free space. As for those who are already waiting in the hall -”

“No. Sharpay, no! Do not -”

“Bring the rest in, boys!” Sharpay called to the doorway.

Two men in coveralls started wheeling things in on dollies. Ryan was so furious and bleary-eyed that all he could do was gape, as the coolers were muscled in, and Sharpay cautioned them to be careful with the ice sculpture. In mere moments, his bedroom resembled a coked-up Party City.
Ryan scrambled out of bed, wrapping himself in his bathrobe and pressing himself against the wall. He was agog. He was enraged. He didn’t know where to begin. Ryan took a deep, cleansing breath.
("What would Princess Diana do?")
Diana was a schoolteacher before she was royalty. She would maintain her honour and go through with the party. She would be kind to the children. She would show up for her friends. Resolved, Ryan elbowed his way through the doorway, shooting his sister a withering look. She beamed back.

“See you tonight, Ryan, darling,” Sharpay chirped. She blew him a kiss.

Ryan huffed, tied his bathrobe tighter, and stalked into his suite’s bathroom.
Only his skincare minifridge could save him now.
As he stared at himself in the mirror, patting on some eye cream and praying he got his mother’s skin and skipped his dad’s hairline, Ryan had to face a few truths other than his complexion. That this year was different already. That he had once been content to dwell in his sister’s shadow, because her armor was so thick it shielded him too. That he couldn’t do that any more, and although Sharpay was fighting it, she knew it too. That he was moving out of her reach. The things she did - he used to look the other way. He couldn’t any longer. He thought, unexpectedly, of Chad’s hurt brown eyes, the way the jock had stared at the floor of the garage in shame. Ryan had felt so righteous, calling him a coward. Demanding that he stand up for Ryan. And yet Ryan balked at the thought of actually doing that himself. Were the two of them really so different?
Ryan watched himself set his jaw in the mirror, lifting his chin. He couldn’t be her accessory any more. Accessory to the outfit, accessory to the crime…whichever. And he certainly couldn’t make himself a hypocrite in Chad Danforth’s eyes. He had to go his own way.
He already knew that shit was going to hit the fan. Why not also commit social suicide?
Ryan sighed, rubbing his freshly collagened face, watching a familiar pattern of worry wrinkle his forehead.
At least there would be a karaoke machine…

Chapter Text

Anticipation.

Chad’s knee wouldn’t stop jiggling in the van until Taylor dug her nails into his thigh. He was missing practice time - normally this time of evening he’d be an hour into his workout, already doing practice layups, his arms burning pleasantly from the weights. Might have even been able to get a run in, and blow off some steam. His brain never worked right if he skipped exercise. All that energy went to a sick, spinning feeling, one that he knew wouldn’t abate until he moved, and moved hard. But that wasn’t happening tonight. He twisted in his seat, seeking Troy’s eyes. But his friend and Gabriella were nestled tight to each other, murmuring quietly.
Taylor removed her hand from his leg like his skin had stung her, and was staring straight ahead fixedly, her nostrils flared. Chad called that her fire-breathing face, though never out loud. Taylor’s dad would be of no help, ever. Chad was better acquainted with the bald patch at the back of the man’s head than he was with Mr McKessie’s face. The man could parallel park like nobody’s business though. The minivan slotted perfectly into the line of cars that snaked up the street.

 

“We’ll walk from here,” Taylor announced, sliding out of the car.
Wisely, everyone obeyed.

“My cake! Will someone -? Please -?” Zeke cried from the backseat.

Chad climbed out, rolling his eyes. and then stuck his body halfway back in for Zeke to hand him the box.
Zeke hesitated, shielding the box with a hand.

“Oh…does it have to be you? Just - maybe get Gabriella, or? No offense bro, but your hands are just so meaty, and -”

“Just give me the goddamn cake!” Chad snapped.

Zeke yielded the box, wincing as Chad grabbed it.

“Okay!” Taylor said, brushing nonexistent lint off her dress.

“Wrinkle check, Gabby,” she prompted, and the girls started fluffing out each other’s skirts, twisting this way and that.

Taylor flipped open Gabriella’s phone to check her teeth for gloss. She pulled a makeup wipe from who-knows-where and started dabbing it underneath Gabriella’s eyes, while Gabriella fussed with Taylor’s earrings. Zeke got out of the car and snatched his box back.
Mr McKessie cracked the passenger side window.

“Uh, you kids have fun,”

He was barely audible, because the bass of some loud music started thrumming from the house. Another car pulled up across the street, and three girls and four guys piled out, chattering and laughing.
Taylor leaned into the window, mustering up a smile.

“Sure, Dad. I’ll call if I need anything. Kiss Mom goodnight for me. Remember to take your heartburn medicine.”

“Have a good evening, Mr McKessie!” Troy called, displaying his hundred-watt, honour-roll smile.

“Yep.” Mr McKessie grunted. He gave Chad a suspicious look and peeled out.

Chad and Zeke watched the minivan speed off from their place rooted to the sidewalk.
Then finally, Chad turned to get a good look at the house. If you could call it that. His lips pursed around a soundless whistle. Zeke nodded at him appreciatively.

“Yeah. It’s, like, a lot. They just built a new wing, too.”

The Danforth house did not have 'wings'. When you walked in the front door, you could see the back door two rooms over. The Danforth house was red brick and one floor with a tiny damp basement. Nothing about where he lived could have prepared him for the sight of the Evans mansion.
The girls ran up to the gates - because there were gates - to a little speaker and keypad, presumably to get buzzed in. The gates themselves were taller than Chad’s house, and wrought iron. After a moment, they opened down the middle with a smooth motorized sound, to a lawn the size of a small beach. Gabriella and Taylor started up the cobblestoned drive, and then turned back.

“Chad,” Taylor said, crooking a finger imperiously.

Even though tonight she hated him, Chad was still playing the part of The Boyfriend At A Party. Zeke, Troy and Chad all stepped forward as one. One anxious guy, completely unprepared for this house and this party.

Taylor and Gabriella had already reached the steps to the grand front entrance, and Martha Cox and Kelsi appeared from inside. Their squeals echoed across the yard.
Zeke kept up a commentary in Chad’s ear the whole walk over.

“It’s about 13,000 square feet, we think, maybe 13,500? It’s a new-build, Mr Evans started construction five years before they came to town. Note that fiber-cement siding and quartz finish - that’s what makes it sparkle in the setting sun like that.”

“Yeah. Sparkly.” Chad repeated dumbly.

Every window was high and arched and streamed golden light onto the surrounding lawns, like the whole house was infused with bubbling champagne. The front door was actually two enormous oaky-looking doors, with big brass knockers, (Haha. Chad had never realized - knockers - because it sounds like-) framed by tall white columns that held up the monstrous roof so it could overhang the white marble deck that wrapped around the whole structure. There were balconies at every window Chad could see. Even the trees seemed different than any other trees Chad had ever seen; expensive, not a dead leaf in sight, like they too, were insured. There was even a little iron fence that edged the roof. How did they get a fence up there?

“The style of this place is mostly Neo-Eclectic, like a lot of houses on this block. But I think if you look closely you can see a more distinct Greco-Roman influence here, than, say, the Fowlers’ manor down the road,” Zeke continued excitedly.

“That’s great, buddy.” Troy said, glancing sidelong at Chad, barely suppressing a smile.

Chad pulled a face back.
They stepped off the drive to cut across the lawn, and stepped onto a path that wound between trimmed hedge sculptures. Troy stopped outside the path to stare at the glittering kidney shaped pool. Chad followed Zeke into the greenery, sidestepping around a seahorse as tall as he was. Zeke stopped to examine an elephant-shaped hedge, peering up its trunk.

“This one’s new,” He informed Chad.

Someone yelped nearby, making them both start. Troy came racing around the corner, the whites showing all around his unnerved blue eyes. He came stumbling to a stop in front of Chad, out of breath. Chad grabbed Troy’s shoulders to keep his friend from falling.

“Dude, what is it? Where’d you go?!”

Troy swallowed.

“I just, I fell behind because I wanted to look at the sculptures and stuff and I saw- it can’t be.” He broke off, shaking his head.

Troy pushed his hair off his forehead like he was checking his own temperature.

“I’m getting sick or something, I don’t know, man.”

Chad looked at Zeke for backup, who looked just as confused as he was. Troy pressed a hand to his eyes, catching his breath. Someone whooped from the house ahead of them… the party was in full swing now.
Chad kept ahold of Troy’s arms and shook him a little to get his attention.

“Bro, it’s me, okay? It’s - it’s gonna be okay.”

Zeke stepped closer, shoulder to shoulder with Chad, looking around nervously. What could have made their unflappable captain so scared?

“Just tell us what you saw,” Zeke coaxed.

Troy looked down, smoothing his shirt. Whispering, he said;

“I can’t be sure but… I thought I saw… he was in a full tux…”

The noise of the party seemed to quiet. Zeke and Chad leaned in.

When Troy raised his gaze to Chad, his eyes were haunted.

“Stanley Tucci.” He breathed.

 

When Chad and Zeke finally brought Troy to the front door, he had mostly calmed down.

“I swear on my lucky socks, Gabriella,” he was saying in undertone.

“He was there. The Tooch. I saw him.”

“Of course, baby, of course,” Gabriella said soothingly, rubbing her boyfriend’s back.

She stared at Chad for answers, her expression torn halfway between amusement and worry.
Chad made a circling motion over his ear, shrugging. She covered her mouth, snorting.
Taylor grasped his arm and pulled him into the house.

Somehow, Chad’s broke ass had successfully infiltrated the Evans mansion.

The entryway was absolutely ginormous. The doorways alone were bigger than his bedroom. Chad found himself facing a huge marble staircase shaped like a big C, that curled around a glittering golden chandelier. Big pieces of art loomed on the walls, in browns and golds and white, the kind that looked like they had taken one idiot to make with a bucket of paint but then ended up costing more than a house. Everything was festooned in pink. Streamers and crepe paper and pinatas shaped like lamas, and life-size flamingos wearing fishnets. Hanging in the middle of the staircase over the entryway was a big Sears-style photo of Sharpay, terrifyingly Photoshopped until her skin looked like wax and her eyes like an anime character. In the photo she was wearing a black leather cap, and had a bunch of black stuff around her eyes in that way that girls did sometimes, like they were trying to look like Avril Lavigne, but Sharpay looked more like Blackbeard. All of the main lights were turned off and instead there was an ambient light shining in Chad’s eyes in flashing pinks and purples. He couldn’t figure out what the theme was, other than eyesore.
T-Pain was playing so loudly that the music felt like it had crawled inside of Chad’s chest and was throbbing there. The crush of people was almost unbearable. Catering staff swept by, carrying platters of red solo cups and plastic flutes of champagne. Chad saw freshmen he knew, bros from the team, girls he didn’t dare talk to in front of Taylor, and a whole mess of strangers.
How did Sharpay do it? He couldn’t imagine meeting this many people in his whole life.
But here they were, all in the same place at the same time.
Taylor pulled Chad into the next room over, a living room space with furniture straight out of old Star Trek reruns. Still packed with people, but not quite as 'aaaaa!!!' on Chad’s senses.
He wiped his sweaty hands on his jeans. Good thing this place was so big. In big places, it was easy to hide from blonde boys in fedoras who knew that you’d read The Count Who Loved Me.
He grabbed what he hoped was a beer from a passing tray and immediately spilled it down his front. Troy took the cup from his hand without comment and drank the rest.

“Have you seen Sharpay?” Zeke said loudly into Chad’s ear. Chad shook his head.

“No, thank God!”

“Tay-tay!”
Martha Cox appeared out of nowhere and threw her arms around Taylor, making her step away from Chad.

“-Girl, you look so gOOD, I didn’t even kNOW -”

“-Aw, girl, you look fantastic, don’t even start -”

Chad leaned over to Zeke.

“Didn’t they just see each other?”

“I didn’t even know they were friends,” Zeke replied, and squinted painfully as Kelsi popped out of the crowd and started them all squealing anew.

Troy shook his head, watching Gabriella and another girl kiss one another on the cheeks.

“I don’t even know who that is.”

Taylor grabbed Chad’s arm.

“You’re going to be okay on your own for a few?” She asked, looking him up and down, measuring, cataloguing.

Troy wrapped an arm around Chad’s neck into a gentle headlock.

“Hey, don’t worry Taylor. I’m on Danforth duty, won’t let anything happen to our boy.”

Chad shrugged him off.

“I’m not some kid,” he protested, the sound of the party making him half-shout. His ears were already ringing from the noise.
Taylor gave the front of his shirt a pointed look.

“Get him some napkins.” she ordered Troy, as though Chad hadn’t even spoken.

Martha linked fingers with Taylor and Chad watched his girlfriend’s face melt into an easy smile, as she allowed herself to be tugged towards the dance floor.
Chad followed Zeke and Troy as they made a slow loop of the enormous living room. Chad smiled wryly. The sofas were covered in plastic sleeves. That was probably smart.

“What team?!” someone shouted.

Jason was making a beeline for them, his arms spread wide. His black hair flopped in his eyes, with a grin that said he was just happy to be here. Out of all the guys, Jason was the one that Chad maybe could have had a crush on. Except for the fact that he was (and Chad said this with love) dumb as rocks. He seemed to be wearing two t-shirts; one was dark blue, and the visible one was two sizes too big, coming down to his knees, white and pink, reading

“I SURVIVED KELSI’S B-DAY AND SHARPAY’S SEMI-ANnual half-birthday ce
le
bra
ti
o
n”
He clapped Chad on the shoulder.

“There’s a custom t-shirt booth, dawg! I got mad drip now. They said I couldn’t fit it all in, but you KNOW I did! Hey! Here’s the gift table! You can put down your box, Z!”

“Nope.” Zeke held his pastry box tighter. “Gonna hand-deliver this myself. Can’t risk it.”

Jason signalled one of the caterers and grabbed two solo cups.

“Hey, what did you guys get for presents?”

“We were supposed to bring presents?” Chad asked.

Jason chortled.

“Yeah! Good one, man. I got Kelsi something but uh, I don’t know.” He took a sip from the cup in his left hand, ducking his head.

“I’m sure it’s all good,” Troy said absently, looking out at the dance floor.

His shoulders relaxed when he located Gabriella, twirling Martha by the hand.

“I got Kelsi a Macy’s gift card. As long as it’s in that zone, you should be good.”

Jason looked not at all reassured, and took a deep drink from the cup in his right hand.

“I got her a marracca,” he said into his cup.

Chad swivelled to fully look at Jason.

“One marracca? Don’t they come in twos?”

Jason shrugged, looking mournful.

“Has anyone seen Sharpay?” Zeke demanded.

Troy raised a hand, trying not to laugh.

“Okay! Okay. A marracca! Kelsi’s a musician, right? It’s a good gift.”

He nodded emphatically at Chad until Chad joined in nodding.

“Yeah. Good gift. Good gift.”

Jason seemed to perk up.

“I hope she likes it,” he said tentatively. “Check it out.”

He picked up a small wrapped orange box from the edge of the table and shook it, soundlessly.

“I even took out the beans, so she won’t guess what it is.”

Chad had to fake a coughing fit. Troy helpfully pounded him on the back, and then suffered a fit of his own.

“I baked them both a cake!” Zeke announced. He was on his tiptoes, scanning the room.

“Has anyone seen-?”

The lights on the dance floor flickered and then went dark.
The music cut out.
The crowd made a collective AUUUUHHUH! of disappointment.
Someone screamed.
Abruptly, the music cut back in, blasting into the darkness. A throbbing, twinkling beat, tripping over itself until it found its footing.

“Uh-huh,” said a familiar voice over the speakers.

“It’s Britney, bitch.”

The music swung full throttle now, louder than ever before. A single spotlight, edged in pink, illuminated a glowing figure in the center of the room. Blonde hair swinging. Immovable showbiz smile. One fishnetted leg wrapped around a polished stripper pole.
The assembled teenagers gasped.

It was Sharpay. Bitch.

—-

Ryan adjusted his headset, bringing the microphone close to his mouth.

“Stage manager here. Does anyone have eyes on Pinkeye? Repeat, does anyone have eyes on Pinkeye?”

There was a click and then Kelsi’s quiet voice sounded in his ear.

“No, Ry, no one here’s seen Sharpay… not in the last … fifteen minutes?”

Ryan swore softly. Then he clicked back on.

“She’s up to something, Songbird. I saw her messing with the lighting rig earlier today. And the sound guys are acting weird and won’t tell me anything.”

Kelsi gave a muffled laugh.

“You know it’s just us on the line. Why do we still need codenames?”

Ryan poked his head around the curtains backstage so he could flash Kelsi a smile from her place at the edge of the dance floor. She was perched at one of the tiny tables, resting her feet.

“It’s fun. Isn’t it?” He said into the headset.

She grinned back, and raised her drink, toasting him.

“Yeah… I guess it is.”

Ryan dragged a finger in the air, gesturing up and down Kelsi’s small frame. She frowned and crossed her arms.

“You look beautiful. Pink really works with your colouring.”

“Oh my God. Stop.”

“Goddess divine. Make any warm-blooded fella’s heart just stop.”

Kelsi spun her chair around, putting her back to Ryan.

“I’m not looking at you ‘til you’re done.”

“Sooo,” Ryan began expectantly. “How has your birthday been so far?”

Kelsi sighed shakily down the line. She eased her body back around.

“Oh… you know… lots of people talking to me and looking at me and…” she gave him a forced smile and a thumbs up.

Ryan’s heart ached. He reminded himself that he had to be waiting in the wings for sound and lighting and the backup dancers, and he couldn’t make his way across the room and give his friend a bear hug.

“I just…feel like maybe this night is more about your sister than it is about me, and, well, that’s okay, I guess, but…”

“Shush-shush-shush,” Ryan admonished. “She thinks it’s all about her, but who’s going home with all the presents? You, gorgeous. And we’ll take lots of
pictures -”

Kelsi made an unhappy noise at that.

“-and you’ve got your sonata tonight and everyone will love it! I’ve taken care of every detail. And you’ll look back on this as the best seventeenth birthday you ever had, trust me.”

She shook her head at him.

“Okay, okay, fine. I will try to have a nice time, but that’s all you’re getting out of me.”

She shifted from side to side uncomfortably.

“Don’t wriggle.” Ryan ordered.

Kelsi looked at him up through her lashes, and it was always shocking to Ryan that she didn’t have a boyfriend because she could pull a sweet maiden in distress look that affected even him from across the room. How could any meathead worth his sauce meet a gem like Kelsi and not want to fall at her feet and worship? Boys were dumb.

“Hey, have you seen..?” Kelsi trailed off meaningfully.

Ryan sighed.

“I don’t know why you don’t just talk to him,” he said, singsonging the words to soften them.

You had to be gentle but honest with Kelsi. She was sensitive, but she’d sniff out falsehood in a heartbeat.
There was a crackle down the line as Kelsi compulsively tucked her hair behind her ear, over and over again.

“Yeah, okay, duly noted. But can you see him?”

Ryan peered out at the dancefloor, until he located a black head of hair.

“At the gift table, chatting with Bolton and Zeke and…um, Chad.”

Kelsi’s glasses flashed in the strobes as she wrenched her head around to look at him. She brought the microphone of her headset close to her mouth, practically swallowing it, and her voice blasted in his ears.

“And ‘UM, CHAD’?! When did this happen?!”

Ryan groaned, hiding back behind the curtains.

“Nothing! It’s literally nothing, Kelsi, and don’t even - ugh! It’s not like that, he’s actually the worst, he just helped me out with something one time.”

“Uh-huh…helped you out… huh?”

Kelsi had such a lovely soft voice usually, almost melodic, so when she was being suggestive it sounded so out of place that it made Ryan squirm. Like watching two Muppets make out. Just wrong.
Ryan chanced a peek back through the curtain. Kelsi made a kissy face at him.

“Stoooooooop, just - just - It’s not like that!”

Kelsi scoffed.

“It never is.”

“I am not the one with boy problems here, okay? And, by the way, it looks like your boy is gonna make his way over to you, better watch out!”

Kelsi leapt from her perch at the table. She looked frantically around for an exit.

“Shit! He’s coming?!”

Ryan giggled.

“No, but look how freaked out you are.”

“RY-YAN. NOT. FUN-NY.”

“Hey, I thought we were using codenames!”

She huffed a sigh, sitting back down heavily and taking a huge swig of her drink. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then said into her headset -

“I am not calling you Freddie Prinze Junior’s Lollipop, it’s longer than your full name, it doesn’t even make any se-”

The lights flickered and then plunged the room into darkness.

And then Ryan’s scheming sister made her move to wrest the night away from Kelsi. Permanently.
Ryan stared at his sister’s illuminated tan back for a long open-mouthed moment, taking in the corset laced within an inch of its life, the short sparkling skirt offering flashes of thighs and garters with every flick of Sharpay’s hips, aghast at the pole and - oh, the tasteless leather hat - hats were HIS THING, and she knew that!
The music switched from the deafening intro to Give Me More and into the theme song from the musical Burlesque. (She had to have burnt a CD for this, where did she find the time?!)
Sharpay stuck out an arm, and a caterer waiting on the other side of the stage behind the curtains like Ryan, stepped forward and tossed Sharpay a horsewhip, which she caught effortlessly. Ryan glared at the caterer - his name was Mike - who shrugged at Ryan, spreading his palms.
“Traitor”
Ryan mouthed at Mike, drawing his thumb across his throat. Mike, who was now Ryan’s arch-nemesis, readjusted his pants, looking unbothered, and disappeared back towards the kitchen, probably to pass out hors d’ouevres.
Damn her and her flawless stage presence and six extra months of tap classes!

Kelsi’s voice came crashing into his ears again, she was practically screaming.

“Pinkeye is gyrating! Repeat, Pinkeye is gyrating! Don’t look, Ryan, don’t!!”

Ryan leapt back from the stage’s edge like he’d been scalded, covering his eyes, but he’d seen anyways and the illuminated image of it flashed over and over again against the darkness of his eyelids.

“Kelsi.” He said numbly, leaning against the wall, covering his eyes. “I’m so sorry.”

A moment later, Kelsi answered him with a crackle.

“It’s okay…” she let out a puff of laughter. “It’s pretty funny, actually.”

“I’ll get everything back on track after this,” he promised her.

“Tonight is about you.”

Ryan prayed he was right. On both counts.

Chapter Text

“The things,
you say
Your purple prose just give you away
The things
(bum -bum)
You say
(bum-bum)
You’re un-believ-able.
(Oh!)
(What the)
(What the, was that?)

You burden me with your problems
By telling me more than mine
I’m always so concerned with the way
you say…”

Chad is standing with his back to Sharpay’s performance, because he didn’t want a repeat of July 21st. The Coyote Ugly song was deafening. This would’ve been boring, if it wasn’t for the fact that he was facing Jason and Zeke, whose expressions were really painting Chad a really low-cut picture. The last time Zeke had looked this excited, it was 2.5 seconds after Chad had said ‘what even is anime, though?’. The last time Jason had looked this conflicted, it was when Ms Darbus told him that she won the East High Home Ec Charity Swimsuit Pageant. The two boys both flinched identically, and a second later a blast from a confetti canon blew into the back Chad’s head, throwing his hair into his face.
“Helloooo, you nasty Wildcats,”
Sharpay purred from the speakers that thronged the room.
“I hope you’re enjoying my stylings on the acrobatic singular vertical barre, because-”
She inhaled slowly and noisily into the mic, the sound pouring into Chad’s ears like staticky honey.
“YOU - AIN’T - SEEN - NOTHING - YET!”
Sharpay’s panting got a lot more performative.
Zeke squeaked. Jason screwed up his face. Troy looked constipated.

“Woes are fleeting, blows are glancing
When you’re dancing through life
Let’s go down to the Ozdust Ballroom
We’ll meet there later tonight
We can dance ‘til it’s light…
Dancing through life (down at the Ozdust)
If only because dust is what we come to
Nothing matters
but knowing nothing matters
It’s just life…”

Chad frowned.
“This is a different song now, yeah?!” he asked the group at large, no one in particular. Maybe at this point he was asking God.
“It’s called a medley!” Troy said loudly over the freshly invigorated music.
“It’s common for some singers and actors to put one together to, uh, showcase their…”talents”.”
Heavy air quotes over that last word. This was why Troy was so good at theater.
The guy could really say a lot with a little.
“Dude, why aren’t you watching?!” Jason hollered - not because he was trying to embarrass Chad, but because you really couldn’t hear shit right now. The speakers were churning out enough noise to make Chad’s teeth buzz.
“July twenty-first!” Troy replied for him.
All three boys flinched in unison. Chad looked up just in time to track a single pink sparkly garter, as it sailed over their heads, ricocheted off the back wall, and landed in the punch bowl.
Jason scratched the back of his head.
“July…?”
“We all went to Martha Cox’s Pop and Lock Jamboree!” Zeke volunteered.
Troy nodded.
“Yeah, and Martha was a semi-finalist!”
“Chad got to the front of the crowd! Without us!” Zeke added.
“And Martha pulled uhhhhh…a Janet Jackson!” Troy surmised.
Jason looked confused.
“I’m confused!” he said.
Zeke gestured to his chest with his solo cup.
“Y’know, wardrobe malfunction?”
Jason still looked confused.
“I’m still confused!” he said.
Troy waved his hand when Zeke opened his mouth again.
“He’ll get there, man, he’ll get there,” he counselled.
Chad sighed, and finished the tale.
“Someone had to tell Taylor, cuz she was always going to find out eventually, but when I did…”
Zeke and Troy shook their heads somberly.
“July twenty-first, man.” Zeke said; or Chad assumed he said it, but he himself could only pick up on his friend’s lips moving.
Troy nodded, subdued.
“July twenty-first.” he agreed.
The three of them clunked their cups together and drank.
—-
“Songbird, you’re up in five, are you ready?”
“I’m right here, Ryan,” Kelsi said, appearing suddenly at his elbow.
She looked flustered already with colour high in her cheeks.
Against the black curtains, she stood out like a vision with her tumbling brown ringlets her fluttery pink dress, arms festooned with a dozen homemade bracelets.
Tiny stick- on sequins glittered in the corners of her eyes like ultra-romantic tears. She looked like a lost fairy princess. It was in moments like this Ryan had to admit that his best friend was so, so beautiful.
Ryan checked in with himself, just in case. Nothing? No? Still gay? Yeah. Still gay.
“I’m ready.” she said, pulling her glasses out from the front of her dress, where they had presumably been stuck in the elastic band of her bra.
Ryan snorted.
“Nice.”
Kelsi laughed shakily.
“A Girl Guide is always prepared,” she said, carefully placing her frames on the end of her nose.
Sharpay’s mixtape was still blaring out of the sound system, but that hadn’t stopped Ryan from cueing up the backing track for Kelsi’s sonata.
“Okay.” Ryan carefully placed his hands on Kelsi’s small pale shoulders.
She looked up at him, chewing on her pinkie nail, blue eyes looking positively enormous behind her glasses.
“Once Sharpay’s performance ends, I’ll hit play on the backup for your piano piece. You go out there and play. P-L-A-Y. This is your night.”
Kelsi shifted from foot to foot.
“I don’t know…don’t you think…?”
“No.” Ryan said firmly. “I don’t think and I never have. But I love you. Go break a leg.”
Kelsi started to grin in spite of herself, and Ryan took that as the best things were going to get.
“Dancing Through Life" à la Sharpay was just ending, so Ryan had less than a minute to get to the makeshift sound booth across the dance floor. Thank heaven for performance schedules.
“Wow, what a treat, huh?”
Ryan glanced over his shoulder with relief to confirm that one of the servers had located the spare microphone and was bent awkwardly over the stand. The applause was mixed. Ryan hopped off the edge of the stage and passed by Martha Cox, who had her arms folded and did not look the least bit pleased, shooting daggers at Sharpay. Several guys in the back started whooping and hollering.
“TAKE YOUR TOP OFF!” someone from the group yelled, followed by a bunch of hooting and wolf-whistling.
Sharpay waved like a pageant queen, teeth glittering like diamonds in the glare of the spotlights.
Ryan started shouldering his way through the crowd, noting that key mixture of disgust, awe, and sexual confusion that Sharpay’s performances often brought out in others. Some people looked nauseous, some offended, and some, troublingly, awakened.
The Sharpay Special.
“Um, so after all of, uh, that, we have another performance, by Kelsi Nielsen, the -ahem- birthday girl?”
Ryan could see the sound booth, cordoned off with some dark hanging cloth, right next to the punch bowl. He made a beeline for the entrance. Someone large stepped in his way.
“Mike,” Ryan hissed through his teeth.
Ryan’s new mortal enemy gave him a trademark shrug.
“Sorry, kid. No entrance.”
Ryan scoffed in shock for five seconds.
“E-Excuse me?! This is my house. Let me through, I just need to hit play.”
If he didn’t, Kelsi’s performance would surely be ruined.
Mike pulled a twenty dollar bill from his waistband.
“Miss Evans says no.”
“I’m Ryan Evans! We have the same level of authority!”
Mike shrugged (infuriatingly.).
“Yeah, but she had the bullhorn this morning.”
“Bullhorn?! I have a HEADSET!” Ryan cried.
But Mike, thrice-accursed Mike, shook his head, almost looking sorry for him, and didn’t move.
“I am under strict instructions not to let you in here, under any circumstances.”
Ryan considered hurling one of his loafers at the man, but then turned tail and raced back towards the entrance to backstage. If he could just make it back, he could - well, at this point he would sing harmonies to the piano piece, or self-compose a rhythmic tap dance to accompany Kelsi, literally anything to make sure his friend didn’t bomb onstage. Ryan started to elbow back through the swarms of people again, but everyone was still clustered so thickly around the stage and the dance floor that it was like swimming through molasses.
He could see Kelsi now, bleached white in the powerful lights, carefully sitting down at the piano bench, arranging her skirt over her legs.
He was halfway there now.
Mercifully, the crowd broke, and Ryan stumbled into empty space at the center of the dance floor.
“Kelsi!” He called, trying to warn her.
“You - son - of - a - b i t c h!”
Someone snarled, and something cold and metal bounced off of Ryan’s cheek.
Uncomprehending, Ryan brought his hand up to his face; no harm done, the skin hadn’t broken. All-too-slowly he realized why there was a sudden break in the crowd. Why do high schoolers ever give two people a wide berth of space and then gather around watching?
Fight.

—-

“Hey Chad,”
Taylor arrived on Chad and his boys as they were having their second or third cheers. The July Twenty-First cheers had prompted several toasts: to the perfectly risen apple strudel, (Zeke) to strumming an E minor and Gabriella (Troy) to finding a good point guard (Chad) to getting back with your ex (Jason).
Sharpay’s whole stripping thing had finally ended, and with it, the noise that blocked out all of Chad’s thoughts. Now one of the servers was mumbling into the microphone, and he couldn’t make out a word of it. On either side of him, Jason, Zeke and Troy stood motionless, watching Chad stare at Taylor.
Looking at his girlfriend, Chad felt something in his chest soften and peel apart.
The lights of the party glowed off her dark skin, her smooth arms. She had always known just how to hold him with those arms, even from their first hug at the end of their first date. Her hair made him remember the silky squeeze of it beneath his fingers as they kissed. Things got so loud for him sometimes. But she was always there, wasn’t she? You were supposed to fight for love like this.Right?
Gabriella stood a step behind Taylor and Chad knew without asking that this sudden cooling of temper had been because of her. Gabriella was famous for taking Taylor aside and talking with her quietly until she came back a new, tolerant woman.
Taylor smoothed her skirt and stepped forward. She did everything so confidently. Chad was probably the only person here who could tell she was nervous, by the way she jutted out her chin, the wavering light behind her eyes.
“Kelsi’s supposed to play us something in a minute,” she informed him.
Chad nodded. Small person. Big piano. Got it.
She had gotten close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating off of her. He just wanted to melt into her arms. It was so loud. He couldn’t do this much longer.
“Will you dance with me then?”
The words hit him square in the jaw. He stepped back from the heat of her, dropping his chin.
“Chad?”
“I-” he was shaking his head before he could even cobble words together.
Taylor’s mouth fell open.
“No?? You - you won’t??”
“Taylor,” Gabriella said in undertone, reaching for her friend’s arm.
Taylor stepped out of her grasp, drawing herself up.
“Say something.” she demanded.
Chad couldn’t look at her.
“I don’t dance.” he muttered to the carpet.
“Oh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.” Taylor said, her purse dropping to the floor unheeded, slapping her hands to her hips. “Oh, REALLY.”
“Taylor.” Gabriella said, louder. “Let’s just go.”
Taylor’s jaw worked, like she was trying to swallow something sour.
“Fine.” she finally said.
Gabriella picked up Taylor’s purse, flashing Chad an unhappy look, and it was that - it was the fact that Gabriella had probably vouched for him, that she had thought better of him, that he’ds failed her expectations. It was because of Gabriella, that as Taylor turned away, allowing herself to be lead off, that Chad opened his mouth and shouted after her -
“I guess you’re mad now, huh?!”
Taylor froze in her tracks.
“Don’t… wait, don’t…” Gabriella said uselessly.
Taylor turned around slowly, planting her feet.
“No, Chad. Not mad.” She was pure ice. “Disappointed.”
Chad laughed. Bitterly. Loudly.
“Well, baby,” he threw out his arms. “Get in line!”
Taylor squinted.
“I guess I should have expected this from the guy who tried to poison me with pre-packaged meat tubes.” she snapped.
“I was just - Hey, I didn’t want to come here!” Chad pointed at her.
“You made me!”
Taylor looked at his index like it was the most disgusting thing she’d ever seen.
“You said yes!” she cried.
“I asked you! Months ago! And you said you wanted to! How would I know you’d changed your mind?! Just tell me! Just tell me these things, Chad, God!”
Chad spread his hands, and his voice was coming out too harsh to his own ears, and he couldn’t even keep track of what he was saying, it was all bleeding out of him.
“How can I tell you anything, when you never even - I can’t - if you just waited for me! To think of things, if you just gave me a chance to - you never -”
There was suddenly a ring of faces all around, glaring at Chad, his classmates and those strangers, all watching them do this, watching them say these things to each other, as the party’s lights strobed at Chad’s eyes. Chad had looked away from Taylor for a moment, and now, violently, she was crying, two tracks sliding freely down her cheeks, one from her nose to her upper lip, and he could tell she was trying to keep her voice clear and not to sob, still trying to communicate, and that was horrible too because it was his fault. They were now five feet apart from each other and alone in a circle of people, and he didn’t know where Troy was, couldn’t see him, and his own eyes were blurring.
“If I waited for you,” Taylor said, picking her words carefully “I would be waiting forever.”
Now it was her turn to point at him.
“You - Don’t - Even - Care.”
Chad started shaking his head.
“No.” he said, numbly. No, no, no, no.
“You don’t even care! About your grades, about basketball, about us! It’s like you had something - you did! And then you lost it, and I can’t fix it for you if I don’t know what it is!”
Chad flinched, turned his face away. She hurled the next words at him all the same.
“What’s even WRONG with you?! What is going ON?!”
She sounded so lost.
He chanced a look at her again, and she was gripping her elbows until her knuckles turned white, like if she didn’t she was going to fly apart in shattered pieces.
“You’re not the guy I started dating any more. You aren’t my Chad Danforth.”
She met his eyes, and for a moment she lost her armor, and was just pleading with him for something.
“What happened?!” she asked.
“I do care!” Chad said.
“Oh, really?” Taylor challenged. More tears brimmed and dropped down her cheeks. Chad wiped his own face roughly with the heel of his hand.
“I do care.” he repeated.
Taylor spread her palms, gesturing, beseeching.
“Maybe you’re just mad.” Chad muttered.
“What?”
“Maybe you’re just mad.” Chad chopped up his sentence, and let the words fall like hammer blows. “That I don’t care. About you.”
A little hushed gasp seemed to gust over the people assembled.
Jesus. He’d really done it now.
“You - you - “
To his horror, he’d finally made Taylor speechless. It didn’t last long, though. She tore one of her earrings out.
In Chad’s periphery, there was a commotion to his left, in the people right between them.
“You son of a b i t c h!”
Taylor spat, hurling her earring at him.
The hoop gleamed as it tumbled end over end, as Ryan Evans came stumbling out of the crowd just in time to catch Taylor’s hoop in the face.

Chapter Text

Ryan was more startled than a turkey on Thanksgiving.
“What the actual heck is happening here?”
He demanded, of no one in particular. People were murmuring and disassembling from the circle now, some assuming the show was over and moving off, others clumping in groups of three or four and continuing to watch over their shoulders. Something big had just gone down, obviously. The air rang with it.
Taylor clapped a hand over her mouth, and then another over her earlobe. He looked down at the hoop nudging the toe of his loafer, and then back up at her.
Taylor was slightly mussed, which was alarming for her. This girl was known to iron her pajamas. The fact that her headband had ceased to hold back every strand of her silk-pressed hair was jolting. There were wrinkles in her tangerine skirt, like she’d been squeezing it with her fists.
“Are you okay?” someone behind Ryan asked, low-voiced. Of course he knew who it was. He hadn’t even realized that he had memorized Chad’s voice, had been listening for it all evening. Ryan turned.
If Taylor was mussed, Chad looked like he’d been through war. His usual coppery coiled curls were sticking out like electroshocked cotton candy, his eyes were red, even his pooka shell necklace was awry.
“Am I okay?” Ryan repeated, disbelieving. He pointed to the huge stain down Chad’s t-shirt. “Are you?”
Chad spared him a sour look and spun away.
“This party sucks,” he announced, stalking off towards the entryway.
Taylor leaned down and snatched her earring off the floor.
“I concur,” she snapped, and took off in the opposite direction, towards the kitchens.
Ryan looked around at all the people pretending not to watch.
“You all should be watching Kelsi’s performance, not this!” he proclaimed. No one moved.
“Disperse! Disperse!” Ryan ordered, making shooing motions with his hands.
A few girls he recognized from theater class moved towards the stage, looking cowed.
Ryan looked back towards the entryway, wondering where Chad had went, where he even could go; where do the middle class teen boys go to sulk? He assumed that Mr Danforth had not had a meditation room constructed once Chad turned fourteen and started having bouts of unrestrained teenagehood.
It was because he was gazing off towards the front door that he witnessed Zeke and Troy Bolton arrive back on the scene, each shouldering one half of Jason’s body.
Frowning, Ryan moved just close enough that Troy Bolton looked up and caught Ryan’s eyes.
“Can we get some napkins here?” the basketball star asked. Ryan hastened to grab some off the punch table. Zeke and Troy both grunted identically as they deposited Jason on the 2,000 dollar loveseat. Ryan’s mother had spent a week in a bidding war for pieces from that 2001 collection. The loveseat, that is. For Jason, Ryan would bid a sturdy twenty dollars and offer an inflatable pool as collateral.
Jason’s head lolled back on the loveseat. The other two boys stepped back to examine him, Troy with concern, Zeke with a smirk. Ryan hovered uncertainly for a second, and then decided that he was going to commit, perched on the edge of the couch with Jason, and started dabbing away the little orange bubbles crusting Jason’s lips. He stank like an alleyway, his dark hair was pasted to his forehead with a little sweat, and when he rolled his head in Ryan’s direction, his eyes were closed and his mouth was stretched in the most blissful smile.
“Dude, it was major,” Zeke told Ryan, as though they were friends.
“Never seen that much liquid come out of one guy.”
“Ahahaha. Yeah.” Ryan smiled awkwardly and then looked to Troy.
“How’d he get so drunk in the first place?”
Jason moaned a little and shook his head, muttering -
“Bad punch… bad punch.”
Troy knelt in front of Ryan, looking up at him, urgent.
“Where’s Gabriella? Where’s Chad? What happened?”
Oh, um, oh wow. Troy Bolton’s eyes were so insanely blue, his lashes like feather dusters, his skin so tan, hair so bronze.
Ryan was pinned in place by his intense gaze, and found himself shrinking into the furniture. He made a half-aborted move to get up and go tell Kelsi Troy Bolton kneeled in front of me and stared at me with his baby blues and I keeled over on the spot! Jason sightlessly grabbed Ryan by the forearm.
“Don’t go,” he mumbled.
“Okay.” Ryan took a deep breath and turned to Troy.
“Taylor and, um, your friend, got into a fight on the dance floor, probably. I don’t really know. They both just left but I think they’re still in the house.”
Zeke tutted. “Yeah, it was bound to happen. ‘Specially after the Hot Rods.”
Ryan was mystified as to what all of this had to do with cars. But on balance, he was often mystified when two straight men talked.
Troy flattened his lips.
“Shit. And my girlfriend is probably with Taylor then, that’s what she’d do.”
He zeroed in on Ryan again.
“We gotta find them. Zeke stays with Jason. This is your house, right? Will you help?”
“Sorry, Troy Bolton, but -” Ryan suddenly had to fight the urge to giggle. It wasn’t every day the hottest guy in school looked earnestly in your eyes and begged for help. This was such a weird night.
“- I need to help Kelsi with her piece.”
Troy hooked a thumb over his shoulder towards the stage.
“She seems to be doing fine,” he said mildly.
Ryan found that he agreed. Kelsi was bent over the keys, fingers flying, and music was pouring into the room, a complex trilling melody that set the room alight. Some fellow theater students were gathered at the base of the stage. Two or three band kids and Martha Cox and her posse of dancers were watching intently. As Kelsi hit a particularly impressive series of notes, some of the theater kids raised their hands to start snapping their fingers appreciatively.
Jason sighed. His eyes were open now, watching Kelsi with that same beautific smile.
“Parties, man.”
He didn’t take his eyes off of Kelsi as he spoke, slurring slightly. “Breakups, breakouts, makeups and makeouts. It’s fash-inating…you get a red cup in your hand and it imbues you, dude, with the strength to act on your most secret-est desires. Anything can happen when you hit the jungle juice and…and ask and you shall receive.”
He gripped Ryan’s hand, gazing at Ryan now, and Jason’s eyes were so sincere and his smile so sweet his whole face practically glowed.
“I love you. You’re my best friend.”
Ryan raised an eyebrow.
“Do you even know who I am?”
Jason answered immediately and with one hundred percent confidence.
“You’re Mr Napkins. You saved my life.”

God save him from the heteros.

Ryan raised a hand to Troy placatingly.
“Okay, okay, Troy Bolton, stop begging, I’ll help you.”
Troy slapped his thighs.
“Great. I’ll get Gabriella and Taylor. You go find Chad.”
“Wait - well - I -”
Troy didn’t appear to hear Ryan’s half-formed anti-Chad sentiment, because he stood, slapped Ryan too hard on the shoulder, and strode off towards the kitchens. The crowd parted for him like the Red Sea.
The grip on Ryan’s hand slackened. A moment later, as Ryan was sitting there soaking in his own discomfort, Jason’s body loosened into the loveseat and he started snoring. Ryan made a face and peeled the boy’s sticky hand off of his own.
Zeke shot him an encouraging thumbs up.
“Good luck!” he said cheerfully.
Ryan rolled his eyes.
“Yes, yes, thank you for that,” he snapped, stomping away.
“You got it!” Zeke called after him. And then;
“Hey, have you seen Sharpay?”

Quickly Ryan found that he had no idea how to announce himself when he was entering a room that possibly held a spitting-mad Danforth, or possibly held two teenagers playing tonsil hockey, or possibly held no one at all. He tried “hello?” but that just made him sound like his grandma answering the phone. He attempted “everyone put your bits away!” and possibly traumatized two guys in the library innocently playing Pokémon on a Gameboy Advance. He knocked and cleared his throat opening the third door, and no one answered. This one was the second floor guest bedroom, the one his Great-Aunt Muriel usually stayed in. Ryan stuck his head in to peek, screwing up his eyes and hoping no one was doing anything illegal. To his relief, the room was untouched. The duvet lay quietly on the mattress, the pillows were fluffed, not a book or a picture frame out of place. Ryan was about to flick off the lights and close the door again when he spotted it - a thatch of curls sprouting up from behind the bed.
Ryan coughed uncomfortably.
“Um… sorry, but I can see you.”
The rest of Chad popped up from behind the mattress, and he twisted around to glare at Ryan from his hiding place. He had been slouched mostly out of sight with his back against the bedframe, and now he sat up again to stare at Ryan over his shoulder.
“What?!” Chad growled.
Ryan opened his mouth and then closed it. The end of Chad’s nose was freshly rubbed. His bottom lip trembled. He was breathing in little sniffles and jerks, the way you did when you’d been crying long and hard.
Chad drew his knees up to his chest protectively beneath Ryan’s long look.
“You gonna call me a failure too? I’ve heard it all tonight, bring it on!”
Ryan raised his hands in surrender.
“Don’t shoot,” he said.
Chad blinked.
“What?”
“The messenger. It’s me, I’m the messenger. Don’t shoot me.”
Chad paused, treating Ryan to a confused silence. He squinted at Ryan suspiciously.
“Did Taylor send you? You want to drag me back out by the ear to get shouted at some more?”
There were some voices down the hall. Quickly, Ryan stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him, but remained at the threshold.
“Troy Bolton sent me. And honestly, I don’t think I could find your ear if I tried.”
Chad leaned back against the mattress, covering his face with his hand. Alarmed, Ryan crossed the room and rounded the bed to look at the other boy’s face. Had Ryan made him cry all over again? Troy Bolton would be so disappointed in him.
Chad’s shoulders shook once, twice, incredibly, with a tired laugh. Two snorts, really, hard through the nose. Chad uncovered one of his eyes to look up at Ryan incredulously.
“You came here to say… my hair is too big?” he asked Ryan through his fingers.
Ryan shrugged.
“Not too big, per se, just…impenetrable. Impregnable. It’s defenses are just too thick. I know a lost cause when I see one.”
Chad’s shoulders shook again. He dragged his hand roughly down his face, looked at the carpet, and gave a helpless sort of smile. A little shiver started at the base of Ryan’s spine and spread over his skin. He could hardly believe he’d been ogling Troy Bolton a few minutes earlier. Now this… this was so much better.
“A lost cause,” Chad repeated, staring at the toes of his beat-up Reeboks.
“Is that what I am?”
Sweet suffering Siscero. And people accused Ryan of being dramatic. He had no clue how to begin to answer that.
“May I?” he asked instead, pointing to the floor next to Chad.
Chad shrugged, looking glum.
“It’s your house, isn’t it? Free country.”
Ryan sat next to him against the bed, and stared at his own shoes for a long moment. In that pocket of silence, muffled noises of the party swam up through the vents; people talking, clumping back and forth, little thumps on the dance floor, but most clearly Ryan could hear the fluttering notes of Kelsi’s sonata. The sound of it seemed to expand and envelop the two of them. Ryan wondered, not for the first time, where Kelsi got her music from. She’d composed this all herself, and while it was clear Kelsi’s fingers were moving at light speed, the melody itself was achingly simple. Afraid and hopeful. Like she was grasping for answers, turning her tearstained face to the sun, even while uncertainty clawed at her.
Chad broke the silence.
“She’s pretty good. I mean, I’m not a music guy, but she is, isn’t she.”
“She is.” Ryan said, pride swelling in his chest.
He glanced at Chad after a moment to find the other boy looking hard at Ryan’s features. Ryan looked down at himself self-consciously.
“What?”
Chad shook his head. His lips twitched, betraying a tiny smile.
“Nothing,” he replied, looking away again.
“So…” Ryan ventured, fighting a strange wave of shyness.
“You’re not a ‘music guy’ but you are a book guy?”
Chad rounded on him, eyes suddenly wild.
“Dude I tOLD yOU, if you tell ANYONE I swear -!”
He struggled to his feet, nearly shouting the whole time.
“I did your stupid thing, we had a deal! I can’t -!”
“Jesus!” Ryan said, raising both of his hands.
In a second, Chad had practically dashed across the room and was facing Ryan, fists balled, chest heaving. Was this kid in the Witness Protection Program or something?!
“Oh-kayyy.” Ryan slowly clambered to his feet, staying where he was, hands spread wide to show he was unarmed, with words or weapons.
Ryan dropped his voice to nearly a whisper.
“All I was going to say,” Ryan said, soft and soothing, “is that I never got the chance to say thank you, for helping me. Zeke and Russell haven’t bothered me since… so thank you.”
Chad stuck out his bottom lip and widened his stance, looking unconvinced.
Ryan slowly brought one hand to his chest, keeping hold of Chad’s gaze.
“I haven’t told anyone. Anyone. Your secret is still a secret, okay?”
He stared into Chad’s almond-shaped brown eyes, willing him to find the truth in Ryan’s own face. Chad looked hunted. His entire frame seemed to vibrate with tension. Slowly, Ryan’s words seemed to register with him, softening the edges of his face.
“Oh. Oh, okay.”
Chad’s hands finally relaxed to his sides. He at least had the grace to look embarrassed.
Ryan let out the breath he’d been holding in a whoosh. He had never met another guy in more desperate need of a chill pill.
“Great,” Ryan said. He needed to get this rabid Wildcat away from other people, if only for the sanctity of the party. The screening room was usually nice and quiet… and maybe Ryan could get him to smile again…
“Look, why don’t we - huh. Do you hear that?”
Chad cocked his head.
“Hear what? The party?”
“No, no-no-no-no,” Ryan said, raising a finger for a second of silence. Discordant notes bounced off of the walls. And someone was moaning, or wailing, or caterwauling, into a microphone.
“What’s going on with the music?” Ryan said.
Chad stuck his pinkie finger into his ear and twisted.
“It’s, uh, bad?”
“Striesand!” Ryan swore.
“This is, yes, this is indeed very bad. Look, the screening room is downstairs, take the servants’ entrance through the kitchen, it’ll be nice and quiet,”
Ryan was already throwing open the door. He walked backwards down the hall quickly, talking even faster, as Chad stuck his head out the door, watching him with a bemused expression.
“Troy said he was going to go find Gabriella, go find him if you need something, there’s mineral water in the minifridge and pigs-in-blankets at the screening room, ask a staff - I - gah, this is a disaster, I’m sorry, gotta go!”
“Mineral what?” Chad called after him, as Ryan nearly slipped down the marble staircase and skidded back downstairs.
Someone was once again messing with his best friend, and Ryan was going to make sure there was hell to pay. Then have a full-diva meltdown. In that order.

Chapter Text

Everything had started for Chad in freshman year. There were some guys in town who still wore their lettermans stretched across their shoulders and guts, guys with no kids who came to the games, who cheered and drank too much beer and tearily reminisced about times long past. Guys who had it in their heads that East High was The best years of their life and that they’d trade anything to go back. Chad was going to be one of those guys, and it was because ninth grade was the year he met Taylor.

“Vote Taylor for prez!”

That year Chad had been skinny and small, velcroed to Troy’s side like Linus to a dirty blanket. It was before the summer he worked hauling rubble at the construction company, and got his growth spurt and put on some muscle. Just little Chad whatshisface, built like a mop - all hair on top and a stick below. East High had just gone through some renovations after getting a big local sponsor for the school. Apparently some new rich kids were coming to school this year, and the Evanses (whoever they were) wanted their precious offspring to go to school in state-of-the-art facilities. Everything had been transformed into sleek whites and reds, the staircases echoed ominously, the ceiling swooned above them. All of it seemed designed to make Chad feel tiny. As he and Troy pushed open the doors to the outdoor caf, the hot Albuquerque sun greeted them, dappled through some fresh-planted trees.
Troy had been trying to convince him to try out for basketball all week, and as they looped the tables with their lunch trays, he was still trying.
“It’ll be fun, man, c’mon!”
Chad scratched the back of his head, just looking for a place to sit down.
“I dunno… basketball and school? Sounds like a headache to me.”
“Naw, it’ll be so great!”
Troy wrapped an arm around Chad’s neck and shook him loosely.
“The boys are back! You’n’me on the court together equals one lean mean b-ball machine, you’ll see.”
Chad sighed heavily, opened his mouth to say no for good, but a girl walked up to them and he froze.
He’d seen her around all day, installed in the hallways passing out cupcakes, little photos of her on posters tacked to the walls and bulletins, even seen her bright smile gleaming at him from a few buttons on backpacks. Now, here she was, in the flesh. The camera didn’t do her justice - her skin was smoother, her brown eyes were brighter, and there was something a little too knowing about how she quirked her lips, looking up at Troy and Chad.
She offered the two of them a box of red and blue buttons with her miniature face gleaming out from them.
“Vote Taylor for class president?” she asked, seeming to sparkle at them.
“Sure,” Troy said, taking one.
Chad kept his hands to himself.
“Why should I?” he said.
She took him in, tip to toes, eyes lingering on his arms. Her eyes sparked, and she raised her chin and smiled, a little challenge, a little heat.
“Tell you what..?”
“Chad.”
“Tell you what, Chad. If you take my button, I’ll come to your tryout.”
She didn’t miss much.
“What makes you think I want you there? Just met you and all,”
Chad replied, grinning.
“Oh, I think you do. I’m a politician, remember? I can…pull some strings. Make things happen.”
Her eyes slid boldly over him again, making it clear exactly how she wanted to ‘make things happen.’ Chad felt his cheeks heat. And other parts of him.
She stepped forwards and pinned the button to the front of his t-shirt. She smelled like jasmine and pretty girl. Chad met Troy’s eyes over her head. His friend puckered his lips in a silent whistle and sent him two finger guns.
“Do you make deals like this with all your voters?” Chad asked the top of her head.
She looked up at him through her eyelashes with a little smirk, as though they already shared a secret.
“I provide equal opportunity for all my constituents,” she said.
Chad had no idea what that meant, but boy was she pretty so he just nodded.
True to her word, she came to tryouts with a box full of buttons and ribbons, her wedges squeaking on the freshly waxed floors.
Chad called - “Vote Taylor!”- as he tossed his last basket for free throw.
When he chanced a glance, she rolled her eyes at him.

He wanted her then. Not in a cheap way, but in a way that burned in the back of his chest. Quick, funny, sharp as a tack, with gently waving hair and cheeky smiles. He wanted her eyes on him. He wanted to prove something.

When she showed up to the inaugural game, Chad played like his life depended on it.
“Dang, Danforth, where’s the fire?” Coach Bolton asked, grinning at him wide and proud. Troy’s dad wasn’t one to heap praise, ever. When he clapped Chad on the shoulder, Chad felt like a million bucks.
“You keep playing like that, son, and we’ll go to state this year!”
Coach’s eyes were lit at the prospect.
“Just make sure that Taylor’s in the stands,” Troy teased, whipping Chad with the corner of his towel.
Coach Bolton chuckled.
“Keep your mind on the court, fellas, and the rest will just fall into place.”
He told them both.
“Every girl wants to date a Wildcat.”
Chad didn’t just want every girl. Well, he kind of did. (When it came to Little Chad, any girl would do, really.) But he wasn’t just a sack of meat. He wanted Taylor.
Taylor Ann McKessie.
If he was sentimental, he’d be doodling her name in his notebooks.
Even though his hormones couldn’t wait, Chad did. He waited until they were going to state. The day he made the final assist. After everything that year; after Troy and him splintering, after Gabriella and goddamn Twinkly-Winkly Town or whatever it was, Chad just wanted something good. Something he deserved.
When they all ended up together on the basketball court, he held Taylor’s hand. He pulled her into his arms before she could slip away. He didn’t care who she was, who he was. Geeks, freaks, jocks, singers. It had all stopped mattering by then.
He grabbed her and said the first thing that popped into his head.
“So! You’re going with me to the afterparty, right?”
He knew he’d gotten it right because she held the front of his jersey and beamed.
“Like on a date?”
The rest, as they say, is history.
Their first real date was over burgers and milkshakes. Chad had to clarify ‘real’ date, because apparently if it involved him climbing up the McKessie’s drainpipe with a flashlight in his teeth, or parking in the minivan behind Blockbuster, it didn’t count.
Presley’s Diner was a real date though. It had a real jukebox that pumped out Paul Anka for hours, red vinyl booths, waitresses in little dresses who popped their gum and called you “hon”. Chad didn’t think it was the perfect place to talk about science, but Taylor did.
“It’s true! Einstein believed that time was not absolute, not at all, and that it can be experienced differently by observers - you and me - in different frames of reference!”
Chad shook his head.
“No way. Sounds like BS to me.”
He loved riling her up. He loved being cuddled up together in the same little booth next to the window, at six pm on a school night, not doing homework, getting to watch how the lamps of the restaurant glittered in her bright gaze. He loved the pencil tucked into her ponytail, the chipping red polish on her nails, and the dainty way she sipped her vanilla milkshake.
“No, I’m not playing with you, promise!”
She was gesturing expansively with her glass bottle of ketchup.
“The only speed that is constant for all observers is the speed of light. But otherwise, as an object’s speed increases, time slows for it, relative to the observer. We call it time dilation. We perceive things as slower or faster depending on our vantage point, it’s just a fact.”
“Uh-huh. Like how for you high school is gonna be a blink of an eye, and for me it’s taking for-everrrrr.” Chad said, poking her arm with the end of his fry.
“Think about it,” Taylor said, leaning on her elbow towards him.
“Time is experienced differently by somebody on a moving train versus somebody waiting on the platform. Oh! A great example of time dilation is when you look at a clock and there’s this weird long moment before the second hand moves when you first look at it, and then after that moment it seems to be ticking faster and regularly. Your brain does that.”
She spread her hands, as if to say ta-da!.
“Time dilation!”
Chad hid his smile and obediently turned to the clock on the wall above the door. It had a little Elvis painted in the center, mid-boogey, and the hour and minute hands were his windmilling arms. Taylor was right.
“Whoa. Heh. That’s neat, actually.”
Taylor beamed at him, like he’d given her a gold star.
“So right now -” Chad pulled his feet up onto the booth and into a crouch braced himself on the seat’s back and table, leaned back as far as he could and then half launched himself towards Taylor, stopping just a few inches from her face.
“We just, uh, experienced time differently?”
Taylor jumped at his sudden move and giggled, framing his face with her hands.
She wasn’t quite holding him back, nor was she quite leaning in.
“You’re a quick study,” she said, dimpling.
He couldn’t keep his eyes away from her glossed lips.
“I like listening to you,” he said quietly, even though being too honest like that made him nervous.
“Mm,” she went. “You know, Einstein also thought that time wasn’t linear, that it was a landscape.”
Taylor’s words may have been clinical, but her voice had dropped nearly to a purr. She was staring at his mouth too.
“He thought that every moment, past and future, exists simultaneously.”
“That’s nice.” Chad said, pushing experimentally at her hands. Taylor looked slightly surprised.
“Is it?”
“Yeah. This moment is going to exist forever, right? That’s nice.”
Taylor smiled.
“Better make it worth it, then.” she said, and he finally got to kiss her.
Chad was thinking about that now, in the second floor guest bedroom of the Evans’ mansion.
The antique clock on the bedside table ticked softly at him, and he glanced at it, watching as the seconds hand seemed to suspend for too long before resuming its regular rhythm. Chad studied the picture placed next to it.
Little versions of Ryan and Sharpay - they couldn’t have been older than ten - posed eagerly on a green lawn placed on either side of a perfect pile of autumn leaves, wearing little knit Juilliard sweaters. Their futures were already signed, sealed, and delivered.
The party was still raging below, but inside his head it was cold and empty.
He couldn’t stop thinking about it.
He couldn’t stop thinking about what had happened to his brother.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the gentle curve of Ryan’s jaw in the golden light from the bedside lamp. The way his eyelashes were dark when his eyes were open, but dusted with blonde when he looked downwards. The open button of his black shirt and the dip of his white throat.

He couldn’t stop thinking about all of it, and where it left him. Here. All alone.

’Stick to the stuff you know.’

 

Right?