(A Lifetime of Mean Reds)
(Chapter 1)
(Once More, with Feeling…and Fans)
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The fan must've been defunct or something.
Chad's arms hovered somewhere above his head as a batch of lukewarm air created nothing but a stuffy, uncomfortable atmosphere. Two in the afternoon, Chad had unsuccessfully avoided the heat via ice cubes, something with a refrigerator, and a cold shower, but he wasn't sure that had actually done anything. Despite his efforts, the heat was preserving and annoying, a silent suffocation on anything remotely alive. Stuck inside studying for an exam he really didn't care for, Chad would have to surrender to the heat until the clock struck four.
And it was January.
Chad's room, the only said room with its own fan, was soaking in the heat, and the ceiling fan wasn't doing much more than mixing up the thick air. He could hear the buzz of the blades rotate over and over.
The ceiling fan hummed a constant tune.
The Spanish text book called his name, but the heat and the fan's tune had retired any hope of studying. Blankets of warmed air and the sounds of the colloquial fan tempted Chad right into a sleepy daze; he leaned into the wooden chair, staring at the white plaster of the ceiling.
Three years. It had been three years.
UCLA was treating the 21-year-old basketball star well: a full scholarship and an energetic city spoiled Chad more than he ever imagined, but the experience was a definite and real one. The enthusiastic East High was a relic of the past, the days of heists and drama-obsessed teachers over and shoved away, because college made room for the real highlights: parties, girls, and overbearing term papers.
College life, a distinct upgrade from high school, was four years of self-discovery, hard work, and alcohol.
Oh, coffee, too.
Chad took a deep breath before returning his glance to the needy text in front of him. The fan's rhythm, now stapled somewhere between his skull and his brain, smothered Chad against the heat. He sat back with irritation, wiping the sweat from his brow in an attempt to cool things down. But the rhythm could not be wiped away; it was tattooed into his mind as it slowly brought about the one thing Chad felt bothered by:
Nostalgia.
He cast another look to the fan; its tune stirred something up in a violating manner as it soon muffled to a whisper of some conversation. Chad couldn't find an anchor, and his thoughts slowly drifted.
Sharpay.
--- East High, Junior Year
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The dance was a mixture of flashing lights, bodies, and sweat.
The rhythm of the music encouraged the bodies to grind, crunch, and violate, the flashing lights and close contact heating up the room and fogging the windows. It was overcrowded because the gym was never large enough, and patriotic kids with school spirit rarely abandoned an East High event. Couples, once alone with their partners, had unintentionally formed the crowd of dancing students—one group: an inviting assembly of grinding teenagers.
Chad grinned while playing with a lock of Sharpay's hair. "Isn't this a little too low class for you?"
Sharpay smirked. "This entire school's a little too low class for me, Danforth."
The music's beat died down as Chad's arm tangled around Sharpay's waist. Somewhere in his expression he smirked back at her, yet his mouth spoke no words. He could feel the heat of her body against his, or maybe that was the three hundred other students behind him, but it didn't matter. She was the only focus he needed at that moment.
"Wanna go?"
"Lead the way."
The crowd barely separated for the departing pair.
They ended up at a fast food joint, the only restaurant breathing at such an hour. He was eating a sandwich with too many calories; she indulged in a lot of French fries. It was midnight, and this had become ritualistic.
The restaurant was empty.
Chad leaned over to Sharpay, his mouth against hers in a quick kiss. He then smiled at her, watching her consume the French fries without a natural care. "Enjoying yourself?"
"As always," she said too flatly.
Chad leaned in closer. "Once more, with feeling, Sharpay."
Sharpay threw him a disgusted look. "Singing vampires shouldn't be referenced…ever, Chad," Sharpay replied, and she sipped her coke directly after.
"…What?"
Sharpay rolled her eyes. "Oh, never mind." But she smiled at Chad before kissing him again.
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Chad stood up from the desk, shoving his chair aggressively from him as he paraded to the fridge. Sharpay—that sociopath of a theater beauty, the iced royal. He hadn't thought of her in almost two years.
He turned from the fridge after he had grabbed a water bottle.
Sharpay.
Twinkle Towne.
Rejection.
Junior year.
A lot of dates and stolen kisses…
The hats went up. Graduation.
Cautiously, he looked to the ceiling fan a final time, the rhythm of the fan clickingclickingclicking. How could a random beat from a fan that couldn't even ward off heat bring up memories of Sharpay? Of all people…
Setting the water bottle down, Chad walked to the fan and promptly turned it off.
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Sharpay Evans' head rested against the clothes dryer, its beat thumping through her skull. Her eyes blinked, and she realized that she was being closely scrutinized. She asked, irritably, "What?"
The girl sitting next to her said, "You're not listening!" Sharpay winced at the voice, reminescent of cheerleaders who were more cheer and less lead. When a piercing voice was threatening to bore a hole in your eardrum, you screamed as much as you could to drown it out.
"Sorry, I'm not a dog."
"What?"
Sharpay held herself back from saying it. "Nothing," she sighed. "I was just thinking." At the girl's face, she smirked, and couldn't help it any more. "As foreign as that may seem to you."
A beat. "What were you thinking about?" Sharpay fought hard not to roll her eyes.
"Someone."
"From AMDA?" She wondered how the girl knew she'd come from AMDA.
"From a long time ago." The thumping behind her stopped, and she gathered her clothes, pulling on a freshly-warmed sweatshirt. "It was nice talking to you," she said in a voice that meant "I hope rabid weasels eat your face."
She gritted her teeth as she made her way back up the stairs to her dorm room at NYU, replaying the past conversation with her laundry companion. For some reason, none of it made sense, some sure-to-be-important syllables of speech were, in her mind, absorbed into the rhythmic thumping of the dryer.
Two things she hated: doing her own laundry and conversations about her past, and of course, they had to happened together. She felt exhausted.
She dropped the basket next to her bed and lay back on the matress, thankful that her roommate, a fellow AMDA attendee, understood enough to not ask questions. Unfortunately, because of that damned dryer, her brain was currently exploring memories she'd purposefully put away before she'd let for AMDA.
AMDA. The American Musical and Dramatic Academy, hours of practice, years of hopes and dreams, a lifetime of stage performances, completely crushed and rebuilt in two years. College term papers and comprehensive exams were nothing compared to it.
But then, college was the next logical step, so she went, the only perk being she could legally drink during freshman year. And four more years to enjoy the snow outside right now, but that was beside the point.
The point was...
She had spent her entire life preparing for this, preparing for the six years that would make her into a Broadway star, and it never occurred to her that she would fail. It didn't occur to her now. The difference was, she'd never thought about anything else but this dream, this dream that was so very close to coming true. Her entire life was fixated on one single debut night.
Until now. Stupid memories of a stupid past life, brought up by stupid activities with stupid, fashionably challenged people.
She pushed her bangs out of her eyes and brought her head up to look carefully at Michelle, who was reading her notes on Modern Dance. Michelle glanced at her, and said, in much the same way Sharpay had said to the Laundry Room girl, "What?"
"Nothing. I was just thinking."
"Mm."
"I miss high school," she said impulsively, and then frowned at the lie. She didn't really miss high school.
"Do you really?" Michelle asked, uninterested.
"No. Unwashed exhibitionists whose phermones probably led to hideously deformed children."
"Story of our lives."
"It probably built character or something. Made me driven to succeed, to get the hell out of there." That was a lie, too, but she didn't answer Michelle's next question, determined to stop this line of discussion that she'd started.
Chad Danforth, wherever he was right now, whatever he was doing, was going to vacate her mind, even if she had to resort to horribly non-chalant tactics to distract herself.
She shook her head forcefully, and pursed her lips to whistle the introduction to The Light in the Piazza.
Michelle raised an eyebrow and asked, "What's wrong with you today?"
Sharpay said, "I was just accosted by a Laundroumat Cheerleader."
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End Chapter 1
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A/N: If you haven't figured it out already, this is a joint story by TehFuzzyPenguin and StarVitamin; if you're bored, read the profile and you'll see we both have our respective accounts and fandoms. Chadpay's extremely ignored, so here'll be a 15 or more chapter fic concerning the pairing. And if things go right, it'll be the most epic Chadpay out there, man. And that's pretty sad.
So, the flashback makes a reference to Buffy the Vampire Slayer's musical episode called Once More, With Feeling. It's not bad, just sort of laughed at.
Anyway, about the format of this story: TehFuzzyPenguin and I (StarVitamin) don't write individual chapters—we each write halves OF EVERY CHAPTER. I write everything concerning Chad, and she writes everything involving Sharpay. All chapters will start off with the THIRD PERSON view of either Chad or Sharpay, and it will switch off with each new chapter. So, I start chapter 1 with Chad, and TehFuzzyPenguin starts of chapter 2 with the third person view of Sharpay. Back and forth.
Chad's and Sharpay's views are SEPARATED by a flashback involving both of them. This takes place in every chapter. Both characters have the flashback, which is why it's in the middle of the chapter, as it CONNECTS Chad and Sharpay together, despite their separate locations.
Yes, yes, it's confusing as a theory but much easier when written in actual fiction.
We have about 11 chapters written, and it'd be done by now if I wasn't so flipping slow with my chapters. So yes, any delay time is probably my fault. I have no idea when we'll be updating, whatever Robin wants to do.
PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE comment. We've worked on this since MARCH, guys, and we'd pretty much adore any feedback. Anonymous, signed, we don't care, we just wanna hear your thoughts, so please enlighten us.
Quick word from Robin: Sharpay is awesome. It took us a while, but it's the funnest thing ever. I'm at Governor's School, sorry for the lack of any fiction at all, I have no energy. Johnny Depp makes my life.
Oh, and I swear to something ANs will never be this long again.
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Disclaimer: Disney Channel owns HSM and everything associated with it.