Not Enough

Part Two

When you thought of Troy Bolton, you would instantly think of his honey colored, Bieber-esque surfer boy haircut, or the red and white Wildcat jackets he would wear on game days, or his caring nature that made him the most popular boy in school. You could picture him joking with his father in the halls, or eating lunch with the infamous Wildcat clique, or shooting the winning three pointer at the end of a championship game. That was Troy.

But one Tuesday morning in his senior year, no one saw the handsome basketball captain striding through the halls. They saw something much, much different.

Troy had stopped to talk to a few teachers that morning – all who had trouble looking him in the eye – causing him to be late for homeroom. He was a little nervous about walking in, but took a deep breath and turned the knob. He tried to ignore the looks his classmates were giving him, and took his seat in the front row.

"Erm, Mr. Bolton," Ms. Darbus began to ask, "May I ask why you were tardy? You missed my announcement about the upcoming student council elections."

"Sorry Ms. Darbus. I was talking to Mr. Hamilton about something. I have a note, though," Troy said, handing his teacher the yellow slip explaining his lateness. Ms. Darbus took it carefully, as if trying not to touch Troy directly and catch whatever disease he had, and nodded in thanks.

Out of impulse, Troy began to turn around in his seat to talk to Chad. However, the quickest glance at his friend forced Troy to immediately turn his attention back to the front of the room. The look that had been in Chad's eyes was one Troy had never seen before, at least not directed towards him. It was some combination of confusion, disrespect, and repulsion that could make you hate yourself in an instant. This look is why it took less than a nanosecond for Troy to realize that Chad wouldn't understand. That hurt.

But this isn't for him, he told himself. It's for her.

As soon as the bell rang, Troy had jumped out of his seat. However, he didn't head immediately for the door to escape. Instead, he headed the opposite way, to a desk a few rows back. And just like the day before, he knocked shoulders with the student who sat at that desk.

"Sorry," Sharpay mumbled again for the second time in two days, looking away to avoid the burning gaze Troy was giving her. Instead of accepting her apology, Troy softly took hold of her chin, gently forcing her to look at him. Their eyes locked, both sets asking questions and looking for answers at the same time.

"Gym, after school. Please," Troy asked. After giving his face a once over, Sharpay sighed.

"Okay."

Never had Troy been stared at more than today. All of the times that senior girls looked at him with sexual frustration and guys with envy didn't even come close to the amount of looks he got today. And while he wasn't fond of the new and not so positive attention, he knew he'd be getting it, and he hoped it would be worth it.

He was used to the staring; even the negative staring. The students of East High weren't very fond of him when he was the first freshman to ever make Varisty, and again when he decided to break stereotypes and go out for the spring musical. The looks, he could handle. However, he had never been good at tuning out gossip. He didn't like hearing hushed conversations as he walked down the hall, especially knowing they were about him. He couldn't blame them, the gossipers; he just hoped it wouldn't last long.

As he headed to lunch, he noticed his father walking down the hall towards him, still wearing the same emotionless expression he had been wearing since yesterday afternoon.

"Come with me, Troy," Coach Bolton said in a deep, monotone voice once he reached his son.

"But Dad, I have lunch," Troy tried to protest. He wasn't in the mood to get into the same argument that took place last night.

"Just follow me, Troy." Sighing, Troy reluctantly followed his father down a few halls into the familiar boys' locker room, and finally entering the coach's room. The two stood there in silence for a while, the father never once taking his eyes off of his son, and the son never once taking his eyes off of the floor.

"Why, Troy?" Coach Bolton finally asked. Troy closed his eyes in aggravation.

"I already told you why."

"Well clearly what you said was so unbelievable that I still can't quite make sense of it." Troy could tell his dad was trying to keep his cool, but the volume of his voice alerted Troy that this would end the same way it did last night.

"It's just hair, Dad. And it's just clothes. It's all just superficial nonsense, why does it matter how I look?"

"Because that, mixed with your resignation from the basketball team and out-of-the-blue break up with Gabriella are signs that something is clearly wrong with you, Troy! Why would you ever think of quitting the team? Huh?"

"I told you, I just need a break. And if things work out the way I'm hoping, it won't be permanent. I just can't be on the team for a little while, okay?" Troy tried to explain.

"What has gotten in to you? Yesterday morning you're just fine and then you come home late looking like…that and saying you want to quit basketball! Think about the team, Troy. You're the captain, they need you. And think about your future. The Redhawks don't want to recruit someone who lost their touch because they needed to take a break in their senior year, the year that matters most!" Coach Bolton boomed.

"I know, Dad!"

"Then why would you do this, Troy?"

Silence overtook the time room, with the echo of Coach Bolton's booming voice still reverberating off the walls. The confusion in his dad's eyes and the anger spitting from his voice proved to Troy that he just wouldn't understand. His dad, and Chad, and everyone else at East High just would not even bother to take the time to listen to him and understand. He was alone on this one.

Looking his father straight in the eye, Troy calmly explained, "Because I need to help someone, and this is the only way I can."

And without giving his dad a chance to say something back, Troy walked out of the locker room.

Sharpay had been standing by the gym doors for a little while now, just watching him. He was on the court, lazily dribbling a basketball. She didn't want to believe what she was seeing.

Instead of the light brown hair that nearly covered his eyes, there was short hair so dark brown you'd think it was black, accompanied by bleach blonde highlights. He had abandoned his usual jeans, sneakers, and nice shirt combination for grey skinny jeans, black Converse, a black button-down, and a white tie.

He looked so unnatural, so uncomfortable. The sight broke her heart, because that was not Troy Bolton, and it was because of her.

"I heard you quit the team." She finally spoke. At the sound of her voice he turned to face her, a small smile showing how relieved he was that she showed up. He had his doubts.

"Where'd you hear that from?" He questioned teasingly, walking a bit closer to her.

"It's been the talk of the school all day. They say the king of East High gave up his thrown."

"Is that the only thing they've been saying?" Sharpay sighed.

"I think you know what I'm going to ask."

"I think you know what I'm going to answer." He responded.

"To be honest, I don't know. You're the last person who I ever thought would–"

"I love you," he cut off. She looked up at him – fully realizing how close they now were to each other – quizzically.

"What?"

"I love you. I love the way your nose scrunches up when you laugh. I love how you lose yourself in a song. I love how when you're giving a performance, you give it your all. I love how stubborn you can be. I love how much you love the macaroni and cheese that the cafeteria serves. I love things about you that I don't think you like about yourself."

"Why?" Was all Sharpay could think of responding with.

"Because those are all the things that make you Sharpay. They're all the things that Gabriella is not. They're all things that are a part of you, that no haircut or new wardrobe could change." At his words, Sharpay could feel her nose get warm and cheeks flush – sure signs that she was on the verge of tears.

"I'm sorry that I made you feel you had to be someone else, Sharpay. No one deserves that." Troy apologized.

"But then why did you do this, Troy? If you hated that I changed the way I looked, why did you change the way you look too?" Her question forced a tear to fall from her eye. With one hand Troy cupped her cheek, using his thumb to wipe the tear away.

"To show you that it doesn't matter. Just because I changed the way I look on the outside doesn't mean I'm different. I'm still Troy. And just because you dye your hair brown and quit the drama club doesn't mean you're suddenly Gabriella. You're always going to be Sharpay; that won't change. And I'm glad about that."

"You are?" For the first time in days, Troy smiled.

"I am." He confirmed, letting go of her face and filling the new void in his hand with her hand. Sharpay looked down at their hands, and then looked up at him, their eyes locking again. No matter how much about themselves they changed, blue would always meet brown in the most powerfully passionate way.

"You are enough, Sharpay. No matter what you look like or what you do, you'll always be enough for me."

Several people asked for a part two. I'm not that happy with how it turned out, but I hope you are.