AN: THE END. How sad. My first sole Chadpay-centric full-length ("Forget Yesterday" doesn't count because it was also about Troyella). I hope you all enjoyed this story. I liked writing it, mostly because I love the movie and the couple.

I hope you all continue to obsessively ship Chadpay as your OTP and eventually sign my petition to the writers in order to change the Chaylor/Zekepay pairings to Chadpay.

... Just kidding.

Title: Cruel to be Kind
Rating: T
Author: MadiWillow
Summary: Ryan likes Taylor, but he can't date until Sharpay does. Chad is the only one deemed brave enough to tame the wild beast. But he didn't expect to find a human being behind her facade.
Genre: Romance/Humor
Chapter: Chapter 8

Sharpay didn't emerge from her bedroom all day on Sunday. After Ryan had finally learned what was going on from Troy, about Chad actually liking Sharpay, he'd felt horrible and went straight home. He knocked repeatedly on Sharpay's door until she finally opened it for him, her cheeks wet, her eyes bloodshot and swollen, and her hair one big knot. "Go away," she'd growled menacingly, slamming the door in his face, and, if he'd been standing any closer, it would have broken his nose.

He'd decided to try again the following morning, but she was sleeping so deeply that even if she wasn't angry beyond comprehension at him, she wouldn't have been able to let him in.

He sighed, sitting against her door, at noon that day, seeing as how Sharpay still wasn't awake. He took out his phone and called Taylor. "Hello?" she answered on the second ring.

"She's still sleeping," he said shortly.

She sighed. "I wonder if she was up all night," she said sadly. "God, Ryan, are we, like, Devil's spawn or something? How could we do this to her?"

"I didn't know she liked him!" he exclaimed defensively.

"Still," she said, "I just... in hindsight, we should have known that paying someone to take out someone else never ends well."

"I know," said Ryan miserably. "And it's my own sister, too. I know she's a bitch but... I'm still her brother. I'm supposed to beat up guys for liking her, not pay them to."

Taylor giggled. "I can't imagine you in the protective brother role, Ryan. I can imagine you getting the shit beat out of you, though."

"Thanks," drawled Ryan sarcastically. He turned his head and looked at Sharpay's blank door, and exhaled. "Well, since she's still asleep," he said, "I'm gonna go see Chad."

There was a small stretch of time where Taylor didn't respond before she said, "Are you sure? He did not give you the best look last night."

Ryan rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm just gonna see him tomorrow," he remarked. "Might as well make it on my own terms." After a slight pause, he added, "And I'd rather he kill me outside school."

"Okay," said Taylor uncertainly, "but try to avoid death at all costs, please."

Chuckling, Ryan ended the call before jumping up and jogging down the steps. Calling a quick good-bye to his parents, he stepped outside and noticed that Gabriella's car was gone. He wasn't sure if she'd retrieved it without coming inside in order to avoid him, or to give Sharpay her much needed space.

He was just unlocking his car when he noticed a large painting sticking out of his trash can. Not aware that anyone in his family painted, he curiously approached it, pulling it out of the can to observe it. His jaw dropped as his eyes skimmed over it, and he hurried to put it in his car.

--

"Chad. Come on."

Ryan had been knocking on said boy's bedroom door for the last five minutes, getting hardly anything more than mumbled responses, such as, "Go away," and, "I don't wanna talk," or, "I'm tired."

"I don't care if you're tired," snapped Ryan. "Just get out and talk to me. You're being such a girl."

"Fuck you, man."

"Fine. I'll just say it out here," he said irritably. "I'm sorry, okay? I shouldn't have paid you to take her out... and I'm sorry for blowing the whole thing yesterday. I didn't know you actually liked her... like, for real."

There was a full minute of silence, after which Chad finally opened his bedroom door. He was wearing red East High sweats and a white wife-beater. "It's fine," he grumbled. "Theoretically, it's my fault, anyway."

"Theoretically?" repeated Ryan, slightly smirking at Chad's use of the word. "How so?"

Chad frowned. "Well, if you hadn't paid me, I never would have gone out with her anyway. And Gabriella's right, I should have just given you the money back later." He shook his head. "But it doesn't matter. She'd never forgive me anyway."

"Sure she will," said Ryan, but he knew it wasn't likely; Sharpay held grudges for a long time. Once he ripped her ballet uniform on accident, and she held it over his head for three years, long after she'd given up the sport. "Hey, you know..." he said, remembering suddenly, "I have something for you. It's Sharpay's." Ryan saw Chad's ears perk up. "She wanted to throw it away."

He led the depressed boy down the hallway and out through his house, heading for his car. He opened the backseat and extracted the portrait he'd found in the garbage can. "I didn't even know she painted," confessed Ryan, handed the slightly bent portrait over to Chad. Noticing that the latter's face registered no surprise, he added, "But I guess you did."

Chad just nodded as he took the painting, flipping it over so it faced him. It was unfamiliar; he hadn't seen it before. "This is the one she was working on on Friday," he said, his eyes widening as his took in its appearance. "She wouldn't let me see it..."

His heart sunk considerably as he ran his hand over it. It was the scene from Beauty and the Beast when Belle is crying over Beast's supposedly dead body, and the rose has only one petal left. It is painted as if the artist was sitting in the audience, like all of her paintings were, except this one had a different, distinct property to it. The artist was depicted as sitting behind Sharpay and Chad; on the bottom left hand corner, she'd painted the back of her own head from that night – half up, and tightly curled. In the bottom right corner, she'd painted the back of Chad's head, his wild, unruly curls sticking out in every direction.

She'd signed it on the right corner, near his head, meaning she must have completed it very recently. Perhaps right as he was picking her up for the dance. And when she got home, she'd tried to throw it away. His throat closed up painfully as he touched the dried paints that were the two of them.

"I'm sorry, again, man," said Ryan quietly. Chad didn't answer, focusing so intently on the painting. He barely even noticed Ryan getting in his car, or him driving away. He just sat down on the sidewalk in front of his house, not moving for a long, long time.

--

Sharpay and Chad did not speak at all the following Monday. She ate lunch in the library again, and he at his normal table. Everyone was unusually quiet at his table, all making sure that they did not talk about the dance on Saturday night. It was made hard, however, by the constant whispers of their fellow peers.

"Did you see her run out like that?"

"Yeah, he must've made her really pissed."

"I heard she found out he was cheating on her with Gabriella."

"Then why are Gabriella and Troy still dating?"

"Troy forgave her, obviously. Those two are meant to be. He realized it was a small lapse in judgement."

Gabriella rolled her eyes, and Chad gripped his seat tightly.

"Chad," said Taylor gently, and he jumped.

"What?" he asked nastily.

"I – just," she stammered, "don't listen to the rumors."

"I'm not listening to the rumors," he spat. "Does it look like I am? Because I'm not."

Gabriella and Taylor exchanged worried glances. "Okay..."

--

Sharpay walked into English after lunch knowing that the class would be hard to get through. Chad sat on the opposite side of the room, but he was still there. Breathing the same air, seeing the same sights. She wasn't sure if she was going to be able to stand it.

"I hope you all remembered that your sonnets are due today," Mr. Morgan said by way of greeting as the tardy bell rang.

"Ah, shit," mumbled Chad loudly in his corner. "I knew I forgot something..."

"A zero for Danforth," the teacher mused. "That was easy." He looked around at the class. "For anyone that did do their homework, who wants so share?"

Sharpay had actually completed her homework. She'd almost forgotten, but when she finally dragged herself out of bed at two in the afternoon, she'd sat down and wrote the poem. Iambic pentameter and all. She was very proud of herself, to say the least. She'd never written poetry before.

"Anyone?" Mr. Morgan was saying.

Having no idea what possessed her, Sharpay suddenly raised her hand. "I'll do it." Aside from the fact that she never shared anything voluntarily in English, or in any class, for that matter, she also looked horrible on this particular day. She was wearing a pink Victoria's Secret tracksuit with her hair up in a ponytail and very minimal makeup.

But she still got up, her binder in her arms, and walked to the front of the class. She made eye contact with no one as she stared down at her work and began to read.

"I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare," she recited, and her voice started to shake. The longer she stood in front of everyone, the more she questioned what in the hell she was doing. He was sitting right there.

However, an unknown force compelled her to keep going. "I hate your big dumb combat boots, and the way you read my mind. I hate you so much it makes me sick; it even makes me rhyme." Someone laughed, and Sharpay became further aware that people were actually listening to her. She swallowed, and read, "I hate the way you're always right. I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry."

And that's when it happened. She felt her voice break and she finally looked up to meet Chad's gaze. He, like everyone else in the class, was watching her, but his eyes held something else in them.

"I hate it when you're not around, and the fact that you didn't call," she continued, her voice rising to an unnaturally high pitch as she held in her sobs. She took a deep breath, calming herself briefly, and finished. "But mostly I hate the way I don't hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all."

She broke off with a loud cry; her face heated up in embarrassment as she came to the realization that twenty-five students, including her teacher, were watching her practically serenade a boy and then burst into tears. Her arms falling limply to her side and her binder dangling loosely from her hand, she shuffled out of the room. Her hand fluttered near her forehead, hoping to at least shield the view of the tears that were about to leak.

As soon as she was out of the classroom and the door was safely shut, she let out a muffled sob behind her hand as she leaned against the wall and sank to the ground, weeping into her hands. She hadn't realized before how much Chad had meant to her and how hard his deceit had affected her until that moment. Not even when she was pouring out all her emotions into the poem did she realize it.

Normally she would have felt humiliated as such a display, but, in some strange way, she felt good. She felt as if an elephant-sized weight has been relieved from her shoulders, and that she could finally breathe easy. Sure, she'd just started blubbering in front of a classroom full of students, but she still felt better. Perhaps she'd already gone through the five stages of grief. Is it possible to do it in a fortnight?

Sharpay just shrugged. She didn't care. She was fine. She could get through this. Sharpay Evans could get through anything. And now that the worst part – facing him – was over, she could start to heal.

--

After Sharpay had read her poem out loud and was met with a good minute of stunned silence, everyone had turned to stare at Chad – even Mr. Morgan, who seemed to know everything that went on in the school.

She didn't return for the rest of the period, for which he was thankful. He needed to get his thoughts in order, and decide what his next plan of action would be.

He hadn't been sure, earlier, what he was going to do about Sharpay. He figured that she wouldn't want to talk to him at all – the last time she'd been mad at him, she'd almost cut off his fingers, and that had been over a stupid kiss. There was no telling what she would do to him in this situation. Decapitating him wasn't a far-off guess, he assumed.

But then she'd come out and made the first move. She didn't hate him. Clearly, that meant something, right? Was that an invitation for him to make amends?

He bit his lip. Whatever he did had be a bold statement. He couldn't just walk up to her and say he was sorry. It had to be something that would make her jaw drop.

When the bell finally rang, signaling the end of fourth period, he discreetly slipped out of the school to head toward his car, with a full-fledged plan.

--

Sharpay didn't see Chad the rest of the day, but she didn't care. It would only make it harder if she did see him.

It wasn't all so easy, though; it didn't take long for her poetry incident to spread around school like a forest fire. Soon, people were whispering about her over a completely different subject.

"I hear she proclaimed her love for him, but he turned her down."

"Yeah, he yelled at her to get over it, and she ran away, crying."

Sharpay just smiled and shook her head, unaffected.

--

Mondays are always the longest, Sharpay had decided. Poor Mondays; they got the short end of the stick. It's not their fault that they come right after Sunday, and thus beginning the long work week. Ironically, Sunday is the first day of the new week, and yet Monday is the most hated.

Well, not everything can work out in the desirable way, Sharpay noted as she stepped inside her house. It was empty; a strange occurrence. One glance around the kitchen and her eyes fell upon a note written by her mother, explaining how she and her father were furniture shopping. Sharpay rolled her eyes; any more furniture, and they'd have to buy a second house.

Her bag slung over her shoulder, she trotted up the stairs to her bedroom, opening it and promptly freezing in the doorway.

All of her completed paintings were hung up and framed around her room, and around twenty blank easels were propped up against the opposite wall. Her mouth fell open as she stepped further into her room, throwing her bag absently onto her bed. She walked around slowly, gazing around as if she'd never been inside before, and her head finally rotated a full three-sixty as her eyes rested upon the painting above the headboard of her bed. It was the portrait she'd thrown out two nights before. She spied the upper right hand corner, a slight crease where it had bent when she'd shoved it in the trash can.

"I know you threw it away," came a voice, "but I thought you might reconsider."

Sharpay's body jerked in surprise as she spun around; Chad was leaning back against the wall by her door, his hands in his pockets. In her shocked form over the foreign display in her room, she'd clearly not been paying attention enough to notice him.

"How did you --" she stammered. "I – why?"

He shrugged nonchalantly. "I remember you telling me once that you like painting but have trouble buying the supplies."

She gaped like a mute and stared unblinkingly. "I --" She swallowed, unsure of what to ask first. "How'd you get in?" she settled on.

"Ryan gave me a key."

Finally showing a smidgen of emotion, she scoffed. "Oh, fantastic. So, you'll probably come here all the time now, won't you? Just march on in, unwelcome and all."

He pushed himself off the wall and took a few steps forward, ignoring her statement. "I really liked the 'Beauty and the Beast' painting," he confessed in a low voice. "I wish you wouldn't have thrown it away, just because of me."

"Don't flatter yourself," she attempted to snap, but it came off as more of an offhand comment. She looked around again, and noticed for the first time the pile of paints piled near the blank easels. "Did you really buy all this?" she asked incredulously. "And the frames?" He nodded. "Jesus, it must have cost a fucking fortune."

He grinned sheepishly. "I had a bunch of money lying around. This guy paid me to take out his incredibly hot and amazing sister."

Warm color crept up her neck to settle in her cheeks, and the knowing smirk on his lips told her he could see it. But she wouldn't give him the benefit of feeling accomplished. "Really?" she deadpanned. "Wow, money and a date with a hot girl... must've been like heaven for you."

He just shrugged his shoulders. "The money part kind of became a tad insignificant toward the end."

"A girl over money?" she repeated sarcastically. "She must've been really hot."

Chad sensed her trap and said coyly, "She wasn't just hot, Sharpay. You should meet her sometime. I think you two would get along."

Flipping her long hair over her shoulder, she folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against the wall next to her bed. "I don't know..." she mused. "A girl that's got you whipped? I'm not sure I could put up with someone so pathetic."

"Hey, now," he said warningly. "Don't judge a book by its cover."

"I'm not," she countered. "I'm judging it by its summary."

He stepped in front of her so that he had her cornered. Her arms were still folded and her face did not register any positive expression as he put his arm next to her head, using it to support his weight. "I messed up, though," he admitted.

"On what?" she challenged.

"This girl," he said. "I was just supposed to take her out, you know, once or twice. But..." He smirked. "I fell for her."

"Did you, now?" Sharpay said, feigning surprise.

He leaned closer, his mouth lingering right above hers. She still made no move to advance toward him, but her felt her breathing slow considerably. "Mhm," he murmured. He finally placed his lips roughly to hers, pushing her up against the wall. He put his hands on her hips but her arms on his shoulders pushed him back.

"You think you can buy me stuff every time you mess up?" she bitched. "Because, F-Y-I, you can't."

"You say that now..." Chad grinned, leaning down, and kissing her again.

Sharpay pushed him away again and said, "Buying me stuff won't just --" but she was cut off my his mouth, urgently, on hers. She finally gave in and gave herself to him, allowing him to cup her face in his hands while she reached up to cradle the back of his neck.

Smiling against his lips, she figured that perhaps the healing process wouldn't be so bad after all.

Cruel to be kind means that I love you,

Baby, you gotta be cruel to be kind.