Chapter 5: Corner of the Sky

The rumors spread through East High: Zeke had gotten into a fight with the lacrosse coach. No, the coach had caught Zeke having a clandestine affair with half of last year's team. No, his affair had been with Jason, and there had been food play involved.

In other words, no one really knew what had happened.

What I did know, though, was that Zeke was glum at school from then on. His fellow jocks lingered close to him, but no amount of manly quips and cooing cheerleaders cheered him up.

I watched from afar, well aware that approaching him would be an unwelcome intrusion, and cursing more than ever my lack of confidence outside the theatre. Seeing him that way dragged me down, and it reflected poorly on my performance.

"Sharpay, you missed your cue again, and Ryan, what in the Bard's name has happened to your balance?" Ms. Darbus rubbed a hand over her eyes as we refused to look at her or one another. "The show is just over a week away; whatever is going on, I trust you to sort it out before then." She waved a hand, dismissing us, and motioned for Gabi to come on stage to practice her solo from the second act.

"Nothing's wrong," Shar hissed as Kelsi played the opening strains. We walked across the stage and settled in the wings, near a group of techies finishing the set pieces. "Why would she think something's wrong with me? Though, I admit that you are reeking up the place."

"If you say so, Shar."

She gave me a discerning look, then crossed her arms with a huff. After a moment, she said, "Zeke never bakes me cookies anymore."

"I know."

"Do you think he thinks something's wrong with me too?"

I sighed. "I really don't know, sis. He's probably just depressed."

"Depressed? Why? Because of that stupid stick sport thing? Big deal."

"I seem to recall you getting a little frantic when you thought Gabriella was taking your role."

She gave an indignant gasp, then stamped a heel into my foot. "You swore never to speak of that again!"

"Ow! I think you punctured my loafers."

"On your Armani collection, Ryan. You swore on your Armani. That's sacred."

I raised my hands placatingly before she could lash out again. "You're right, I did. Sorry. I was just making the point."

"That what? You have no respect for topics that should stay in the past?"

"No… that Zeke cares about his sports as much as we care about theatre. It probably hurts that he can't play one."

"Oh." She put her hands on her hips and disdainfully watched Gabriella walk across the stage as she sang through her nose. "And you think that's why he stopped making me things?"

"Probably."

She tilted her head and squinted at Gabi. "Obviously, we have to get it back, then."

"Get what back?"

She gave me an exasperated look, and I could tell that she had an idea. "Lacrosse, Ry. We're going to get Zeke back on his team."

Brightened with Purpose, she spun and stalked across the stage, just as Gabi finished her solo. Over the last strains of the song, Shar loudly demanded to run through her part again. I smiled as I followed, once again grateful that I had a sister like Sharpay.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The first phase of the plan was to find out what, exactly, had happened. Sharpay set her little web of devotees into motion gathering information, and one got back to her during final period the next day, Friday. Shar sat in the back of our trigonometry class with her cell phone just under her desk, her jaw dropping by degrees as she read her texts.

As soon as the bell rang, we were off to the theatre.

"Nikki says that Erik says that the cheerleaders heard Zeke tell Danforth that Coach Bolton wants Zeke to work out during free period."

My mind utterly failed to follow that sentence. "…what?"

She rolled her eyes. "Pay attention, Ryan." She waved a hand vaguely. "It sounds like Coach Bolton wants Zeke to keep himself in shape for lacrosse. Apparently, Zeke's been spending his free periods in the Home Ec labs, which, by the way, Nikki thinks is 'super cool.' I don't get it, but whatever."

"Wait… why would the basketball coach care about lacrosse…?"

I yelped as she swatted me with her clutch. "Duh, Ryan. He's the lacrosse coach in the spring. He can't be basketball coach when it's not basketball season, now can he?"

"I guess not."

She gave me an 'exactly' look, and we stopped at our lockers. Shar peered at herself in her locker vanity, and pulled make-up out of her clutch for a pre-rehearsal touch-up. I stuffed my books in my locker, shut it, and waited for her to finish.

"Apparently," she said as she applied lipstick, "it started when he went into the locker room after school, and one of his teammates from last spring complained that they never saw him during free period workouts, though I have no idea why someone would want to spend time getting all icky and sweaty in the middle of the day. Can you imagine having to take all those showers? Or worse, not taking them, and smelling like a—"

"Shar," I prodded.

She gave me a glare in her mirror. "Don't 'Shar' me, Ry. It's me telling the story."

I played with my newsboy cap to stop myself from sighing or rolling my eyes, or something equally suicidal.

"Anyway, Zeke told them he was up in the Home Ec labs, baking, during free period. And because the team are a bunch of stupid boys just raging with testosterone, it somehow turned into a fight. That's how he got that black eye, I think."

"I see."

"I'll believe that when I see it." She capped the lipstick and started inspecting her mascara. "So Mr. Bolton hears the fighting, and comes out. But then he starts getting on Zeke's case about not showing up for free period workouts. He says some stuff about teamwork and keeping in peak condition between seasons—I wasn't really paying attention to Nikki's texts here—and somehow Zeke gets riled up enough to shout back. And then Mr. Bolton shouts something like 'If you can't give one hundred ten percent, don't bother showing up at tryouts.'" She had lowered her voice in an unflattering but accurate imitation of Coach Bolton. "That's when Zeke grabbed his things and left, and that's how they stand now." She shut her locker and turned to me.

"So… what do we do?"

"What else? We meddle." She smiled a schemy smile and strode confidently down the hall, in a direction that was not toward the Drama Department.

x-x-x-x-x-x

I was a little taken aback—but not at all surprised—when Sharpay strode purposefully into the boys' locker room, perfectly poised as if she belonged there. I did my best to act like she did, too. A chorus of catcalls from boys in various states of undress followed us as we passed through and turned into the gym teachers' office.

Mr. Bolton glanced up, pulling his feet off his desk. "…what on earth? Miss Evans, you want to tell me what you're doing in here?"

Shar posed against the doorframe, flashing Mr. Bolton a disarming smile. "I'm glad I caught you, Mr. Bolton. I was worried I'd miss you, and have to wait until Monday."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see boys peering at her from behind corners and lockers, but when I turned to look straight at them, they disappeared. It was unnerving.

"What can't wait until Monday?" asked the coach.

She stepped into the office, somehow still keeping her charismatic smile, despite the room's smell. "Well, I was just wondering when tryouts for lacrosse are scheduled?"

The coach made a little laughing noise. "While I applaud your trying to channel your aggression into something productive," (I stifled a snigger) "I'm afraid I can't help you. Our school doesn't have a girls' lacrosse team… though I'm sure Mrs. Noles wouldn't mind starting one, if you suggested it."

"Oh! No, I'm not asking for me. I'm asking for Ryan."

For the first time, Coach Bolton noticed me, still standing in the door, and his face went completely white in what looked to be horror. "Ryan Evans… wants to play… lacrosse?"

I flicked a glance at Shar, and she gave me a pointed look. I put on a stage smile. "Absolutely. Everyone else seems to be trying new things, so I figure I should too."

"You do know that it gets a little rough sometimes, right?"

"Yes sir. I've taken twelve years of dance; I think I can handle it."

Oddly he seemed to find that even less assuring. He stared at me for a moment. "Did Darbus put you two up to this?"

We both put on appropriately surprised expressions. "Of course not, Mr. Bolton," Sharpay said.

He looked at her blankly for a moment, then narrowed his eyes and shook a finger. "Something's up, here. I'll figure it out sooner or later."

"Why would we… oops!" Sharpay gestured, tipping the coach's mug all over his desk. He leapt up and righted it, but not before some sort of noxious energy drink thing had puddled on the desk and started dripping down to the floor.

"Oops, I didn't mean to—" Shar exclaimed in her fakest 'silly me' voice.

"Don't worry about it. Just… stay here. I'll be right back." He ran past me and out of the room, heading for the bathroom for something to sop up the mess.

As soon as he was out of sight, Shar leapt into action, flipping through the papers on his desk and opening his drawers. When she noticed me watching, she gave me an impatient look. "Ryan, come on!"

Obediently, I crossed to a filing cabinet. "What are we looking for?"

"Something useful, duh."

"Glad you're so specific, Shar."

"Just shut up and dig."

I paged through a couple files, most of which were newspaper clippings all showing pictures of Troy. Uh… huh.

Shar suddenly shouted, "Aha!" I closed the cabinet and turned in time to see her fold something neatly and slip it into her clutch. I joined her at the desk.

"He keeps an entire cabinet full of articles about his son," I said.

"Um, creepy."

"Yeah, that's what I was thinking."

Mr. Bolton swept back into the office, bearing an entire roll of paper towels. We stood by and watched as he started sopping up the sticky liquid that I really didn't want to identify.

"Thanks for your time, Mr. Bolton," Sharpay chirped and turned to leave.

The coach's head came up. "Wait… didn't you want to know when tryouts were?"

"Three weeks from now, right Ry?"

"Um, sure."

Mr. Bolton gave us an incredulous stare.

"Toodles!" Shar gave him a finger wave and swept out, and I followed after. I think she was too pleased with herself to notice the stares.

Once we were safely home in the auditorium, listening to Troy do vocal exercises, Shar opened her clutch and pulled out the folded piece of paper.

"So what did we get?" I asked.

She unfolded it and showed it to me. As far as I could tell, it was a typed list of names. "These are the people who were on the lacrosse team last spring. Those who didn't graduate last year will probably be on it again."

"So…"

"So, Ryan, we are going to give those jocks a little appreciation for the arts, culinary or otherwise."

x-x-x-x-x-x

Over the following Monday and Tuesday, contenders for the lacrosse team began one-by-one suffering from a universal case of exceedingly bad luck. One found his locker piled with textbooks in such a way that they promptly avalanched out on him as soon as he opened it. Another misplaced his clothing while using the showers and had to walk to the lost-and-found wearing nothing but a towel. Another got multiple bruises when a herd of freshmen trampled over him during passing period.

It was all very innocent and unconnected, but, apparently, fearing some sort of karmic retribution, the team got together and decided to take back anything they'd done wrong in the past month. This included apologizing and making amends with Zeke for the baking thing. He walked into Tuesday rehearsal with a smile and a fresh batch of brownies baked that free period, and told everyone how the team had mysteriously decided to convince Coach Bolton to ease up on the free period policy. That was enough for Shar.

But for some reason, it wasn't enough for me. Something bothered me, but I couldn't quite put my finger on it. That was bad, because opening night was in three days.

I watched Zeke over the next couple days. He was usually easy-going and ready with a joke or a kind word. But now he was quieter, more reserved. I couldn't help but worry that something was wrong, and was surprised that none of his friends seemed to pick up on it.

Well, except one.

On Friday during free period, Shar and I commandeered one of the music rooms to bicker about last minute things, just like we always did. We heard a knock, and Jason Cross poked his head in, his eyes flickering back and forth between us in silence for a moment.

"Kelsi's in the auditorium," I told him.

"I'm not… looking for Kelsi."

Sharpay didn't even deign to look at him. "Ryan, can you tell this bro-bot to leave before one of us catches whatever that is he's got."

Jason frowned at Sharpay, but didn't take the hint. Instead, he stepped inside and shut the door. "Look, I know you two had something to do with Zeke getting back on the team… right?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said airily, staring at a wall.

His eyes turned to me. He reminded me of a kicked dog. "I saw you in the locker room… on Friday."

"Duh. It's not like that was a secret. Ry thought he wanted to join a sport, but I talked him out of it."

"Oh." He frowned, thinking. "That was it?"

"Yep. Now, buh-bye."

He stared at me, and I kept my face blank.

"Okay. Well, I was hoping you could help with something… but I guess I'll talk to Troy and the guys instead." Dejected, he turned and opened the door.

"…wait."

"Ryan."

I very carefully did not look at my sister. "It's Zeke, isn't it?"

"Yeah." He turned back, brightening a little.

"He's still a little depressed, isn't he?"

"You noticed too? I thought I was the only one." Looking relieved, Jason sat down on a piano bench (with no piano in sight, might I add).

"What? Why?" Sharpay snapped, finally turning to acknowledge him. "He's got his sports and his baking. What more does he want?"

"I think… um..." Jason fidgeted with his hands.

"And why do we care?" Sharpay pressed on.

"I thought you would, since you did with the last thing." He frowned to himself. "Except that you didn't."

"We did," I confessed.

"Ryan," Shar hissed as he glanced up hopefully.

"Look, he's my best friend. I'm worried about him." This, he said to Sharpay, as if pleas to sympathy actually worked on her.

"Think of the cookies, Shar."

She glared at me, then huffed and turned away in a way that I recognized as concession.

"We'll help, if we can." I told him, holding down a triumphant grin. "Do you know what's wrong?"

"I think so." He thought for a moment, working through it in that slow way of his. I recognized something of myself in that; he had a slow, careful way of thinking about things. I wondered if maybe there wasn't more going on in there than showed, just like there was more inside my head than most people gave me credit for.

"Well?" my sister prodded impatiently. I motioned for quiet, and she turned her Glare of Doom upon me, the full force of which could reduce greater men to tears. I was used to it, though, and simply didn't look at her.

After a while, Jason spoke. "Zeke is…torn, I think. He wants to do both, but I don't think he thinks he can. He's worried that he won't be able to do everything that he wants." It was so familiar, a shiver went down my spine.

Shar didn't see the parallel. "But he'll figure out a way, just like Troy, and everyone will get together and dance and sing in the end. What's the big deal?"

Jason shook his head. "But that's just it, because Troy hasn't done both. Don't get me wrong… Troy's a cool guy. But when he spends more time in the theatre, he spends less on the court. And when he hangs out more with Gabi… he hangs out less with us. Zeke doesn't want to be like that. I think he's worried he might be."

"That's so like him," I mumbled, smiling. When Jason glanced at me curiously, I shook my head.

"Yeah… so, I was wondering if you guys might come up with something to handle this."

"You must be completely stupid," Sharpay said, rolling her eyes, and Jason slumped. "How could we do that? What are we going to do, sit down and have a heart-to-heart?"

Well, that wasn't a bad idea.

That afternoon, everyone was frantic. It was opening night, and therefore the stage was transformed into a hurricane of glitter and gauze. Some scurried to find pieces of their costumes that had mysteriously gone missing, and two techies with poles tried to get the camel prop down from on top of the spotlight (no one knew how it had gotten up there in the first place).

Shar spent the entire afternoon primping in her dressing room, occasionally poking her head out to yell at some unfortunate techie. Kelsi hunkered over her piano, hands running over the keys in a shaking-yet-competent manner. Troy spent his time coaching Gabriella, who seemed to be having some sort of panic attack. Ms. Darbus could be seen as a flutter of scarves constantly on the move. Meanwhile, my time was split between attending to my sister and herding the younger cast members into some semblance of calm and order.

When the jocks and Taylor entered after their respective after-school activities, they looked rightfully taken aback by it all.

"Hey, guys," Troy said breathlessly, holding Gabi close.

"Wow," Taylor said, looking around at the bustle. "We're not in the way, are we?"

"Probably a little," Troy said sheepishly.

Chad shook himself out of the horrified stare he'd been giving Troy's colorful costume and stage make-up. "We just dropped by to wish you good luck with your show thing."

Every Drama Club regular gave a gasp, and Chad looked around as if we were the weird ones, when he was the one with that hair.

"What?"

"Man, you can't say that in the theatre," Troy said quietly, but his voice carried. "It's bad luck."

"Saying 'good luck' is bad luck? Since when?"

"Since always, dude."

Chad stared at Troy for a long moment. "You really are… one of them."

"Chad…"

"Wait, no, I'm sorry." He held up is hands in a defensive gesture. "I'm just saying I'll be watching." He quirked a sideways grin and pointed at Troy. "So you better not screw up."

"Thanks, Chad," Troy said, smiling.

Meanwhile, Taylor climbed up and started rubbing Gabi's back and whispering soothingly to her. Jason cast a glance around before heading over to Kelsi and giving her a kiss on the temple.

Zeke headed toward me, a cake box cradled in his arms. He gave me a tight smile. "I baked something special. Where is—"

"GET OUT OF MY ROOM, YOU INSECT!"

We both winced and turned to glance in the direction of her dressing room. A costumer came scurrying out, something lacy and colorful bundled in her arms.

"Probably best to wait a couple minutes," I suggested.

"Yeah," Zeke whispered back.

"Actually…" I turned back to him, and he gave me a curious look. I suddenly felt shy, having his full attention, but I fought the emotion with the self-denial of an experienced actor. "I want to talk to you about something."

"Sure." He looked confused, but was too nice to deny me. God, why was Shar so lucky?

Focus, Ryan.

I led him off the stage and out into the house, where things were less chaotic. We sat down along one wall on the side, close enough to one another that I was tempted to take his hand. He set his cake on his opposite side.

"Ok, shoot."

I focused on not trying to scoot closer to him, the memory of his strong hands coming back to me.

"You okay, man?"

"Yeah." I did a quick breathing exercise and mastered myself. "I was just wondering… I mean, I heard the lacrosse thing sorted itself out."

He smiled, and my heart fluttered. "Yeah. Coach Bolton eased up, so it's all good."

"But…?"

His smile faded, and he shrugged.

"It doesn't feel like enough," I finished for him.

He looked at me, guarded in a way I'd rarely seen him.

"It feels like… you're being pulled in two." I sighed. "There's one thing, the thing that everyone expects you to do. The thing that's comfortable… the thing that's… acceptable. And you love it, of course you do, or you wouldn't be doing it. But then there's the other thing… the thing that stirs your passions, and fills your heart in a way nothing else does, so much that it's utterly overflowing, and you know that that is happiness. But pursuing it means alienation. No one would understand if you gave up everything for it. But you have to give up something, because there's only so much of you to go around. So is it the one your head knows is smart, or that your heart knows is right? You can't do them both… but it hurts to give either up."

"We're not… talking about me, here… are we?"

I reached up to pull my fedora over my face (I'd demanded that my costume have one). "I just wanted to give you my take on it."

"Which one did you choose?"

"My heart. It was never really a contest, in the end."

"You ever regret it?"

I breathed out and peered up at the house ceiling. "Not regret it, exactly. Sometimes, I look back and wonder 'what if'? What if I'd chosen the comfortable one? Would my father be able to talk to me? Would I have friends? And would I be happy? I don't think so, for the last one."

He reached over and put a hand on my shoulder. I closed my eyes and simply felt the warmth and strength coming through the point of contact.

"Thanks, man. You're right. When you put it like that, there's really no contest."

I opened my eyes, and saw him beaming at me. My muscles turned to goo.

He removed his hand, but kept on smiling. "You know, there's actually this Junior Iron Chef thing going on this spring. I think it'd be fun to try it, you know?"

I tried to speak, but my tongue had turned to mush with the rest of me. Pull yourself together. I took a deep breath. Straight straight straight.

He stood up, and held out a hand to help me up. I took it, conscious not to look too eager or hold on too long. Still, my heart was fluttering.

He reached down and picked up the box, then handed it over to me. "You'd better give this to her. I don't think I should go in there right now."

"Not if you don't want to lose a limb," I said with something disturbingly close to a giggle. Straight, dammit!

He just grinned brightly—much brighter than he had in two weeks—and turned to rejoin his friends.

And just like that, I became aware of my surroundings again. The jocks were standing in a cluster off one side of the stage, Gabi still ensconced in Troy's arms. Kelsi had disappeared, and rest of the Drama Club were a nervous mess.

The jocks greeted Zeke as he rejoined them, and I heard Chad say, "Dude, what were you doing, talking to him?"

"Lay off, Chad," Zeke said. "Ryan's cool."

He said my name.

Jason grinned at me behind Zeke's back, sensing the lack of tension in his friend, and I felt bold enough to give him a wink as I passed. I did a little dance as I moved toward Sharpay's dressing room, even humming a few bars.

Shar looked up at me as I entered, obviously in the midst of a pre-performance crisis of some kind.

"Ryan, where have you been? I couldn't find my glitter eye shadow, and now I have but it's not going on right, and I think I've gained weight so I feel all fat and bloated, and I have bags under my eyes and I think one of the sound people took my cell phone wherehaveyoubeen!"

While she spoke, I set the cake down on the dressing stand, and waited for her to release it all. Then, I hummed soothingly to her, calmly taking her eye shadow and turning her chair toward me so I could apply it. She slowly calmed under my careful ministrations.

"Is that a Zeke thing?" She asked, pouting.

"A cake."

"You have to help me eat it, Ry. I'm all chubby and icky right now."

I bit back a smile. "You are not chubby, Shar."

"I am. It's all those sweets I've been eating!"

"Have you actually gained any weight?"

"Two whole pounds!"

I failed to hold back the smile any longer, and she pinched me for it.

What I'd told Zeke was true: it really never had been a choice. Even if I hadn't loved dance so much, I wouldn't have given my sister up for anything.

When the curtain rose, we knocked them dead.