Took me absolutely forever to figure out where this fanfic was going, but know that I know, I can't wait to write it! Don't worry, I am honestly working on Eastside Storyand Sky Golden, but I get easily distracted by my 10000000000000000 fanfic ideas, haha. Hope you enjoy this prologue[note:: yes, this chapter is modified

Fire and Water

Prologue

It wasn't until Mom left that I realized how much Dad hated Ryan. I had always been the favorite twin, but Ryan used to be at least a person in our father's presence. Now he was a way to vent anger. Swigging down a shot of vodka, our dad would stomp upstairs and drag Ryan from his room where he might have been calmly doing his homework or practicing our tryout piece. He would use any excuse at all, no matter how crazy and ridiculous to take out his frustration on his son. And Ryan tried so diligently to keep up with his grades and extracurricular activities. The late hours he had stayed up till…just to pass the seventh grade.

The first time my dad beat up Ryan the entire house shook with the force of my delicate brother's screams. Our mansion was too far away from anybody else for neighbor's to call in concern. I guess they figured those who are blessed with money can't have any family issues.

We didn't dare call anybody…we were too scared. For some reason, we never even thought of calling the police; it was just an unspoken agreement.

Silent sobs racked through my body as I watch Ryan become more and more unresponsive as the person we called "Dad" repeatedly kicked and punched his skinny body. I bawled by eyes out alone in my bedroom as my father lashed Ryan's back with his belt, his victim biting a pillow to stifle his screams. The only reason he tried to stifle them was for me; he knew I had had nightmares the night I had heard his cries.

We never told a soul about what life was like back at our home. It wasn't like it used to be, where we had no friends at all; we had plenty, like Troy Bolton, Gabriella Montez, Chad Danforth, and Taylor McKessie. Just no one we trusted enough to tell about our dad.

Naturally, keeping such a secret from them causes the both of us to seem pretty isolated. Gabbi often asked me if something is bothering me the nights we sleep over (at her house, obviously) when it is the time of year where we live with our father. I just smiled and told her cheerfully that I was merely zoning out again. All I could do was stand to the side and watch them survive every day without the knowledge that when they go home they will have to listen to their angel of a twin brother be beaten out of consciousness.

People used to fear us. But even then, it was us who cowered together in fear at home as we listened to our drunken father smashing around the kitchen; mentally counting the minutes until Ryan would be disrupted.

People used to talk about how Ryan was my "lapdog", and I the bitchy sister. But really, they had it all wrong. I readily admit to being extremely protective of my slightly-younger brother; because honestly, the kid needed a lot of looking after…especially with a person like our father around. He was already a sensitive, fragile, quiet guy, and being told he was a worthless person every day for sixth months of the year really started to get to him. It came to the point where I could barely talk to Ryan anymore; he was so dehumanized. He would stare back at me, with his big eyes, no longer sparkling with his crazy optimism, but as dull as the sky after a stormy day on the sea.

I truly did hate myself. As much as I wanted to whisper words of comfort in his ear, all I could do was give him hugs and reassuring smiles, and wish to goodness he knew how much of my heart was in them. Any time I tried to do more, my words fell flat or turned into questions…or just failed to come out all together. The last one happened most frequently. I could easily chat away when I was not trying to fulfill the role of a supporting sister; I could easily yap away about the latest gossip and how adorable Zeke had been the other night, and Ryan would listen. Or, pretend to listen while letting his eyes glaze over as he thought of other things. But I didn't care; I still had him, and that was the important thing.

One experience stands out firmly in my memory. It took place at night, or early morning rather; my bedside clock read 1:00 A.M. I snuck out of my room and gently pushed open my brother's door. Ryan sat cross-legged on his bed; eyes closed and sitting up straight. I knocked on the open door, for the poor guy was easily startled lately. His eyes opened, recognized my fluffy pink bathroom, and nodded me in. I sat down next to him and laced my hand into his. Though Ryan's expression didn't change, his hand tightened around mine.

"Why?" was all I managed to croak out, even that one word reluctant to come out of my mouth. I stroked his increasingly skinny hand with my thumb, hoping to convey the rest of my thoughts through that. Hopefully the saying about actions speaking louder than words held water.

He gazed deep into my eyes, and deep in the pools of blue shadows, I caught a breeze of my real brother. The one who used to always cheer me up, make me laugh, and give me a reason to put on a smile every morning. Instead of straight out answering me, Ryan began to sing to me. I hadn't heard his sweet tenor in what seemed years; my eyes closed, as if going to sleep for the first time in centuries. It brought back such lovely memories to hear him sing. To no surprise, he sang a shortened version of a song by his favorite singer, Josh Groban.

When I am down

And oh, my soul so weary

When troubles come

And my heart burdened be

Then I am still

And wait here in the silence

Until you come

And sit awhile with me

You raise me up

So I can stand on mountains

You raise me up

To walk on stormy seas

I am strong

When I am on your shoulders

You raise me up

To more than I can be

You raise me up

To more than I can be

It was a beautiful song and sent shivers up my spine. The corners of Ryan's mouth turned up, and a sparkle escaped his eyes.

"You"

The small smile and small word were the most I obtained from my twin for several months hence.

That was one of his few good nights; the nights when he would look me back in the eye and speak to me. Most nights he wouldn't even respond. He would just stare straight at the wall, as if he wasn't even in the natural world at all. His silence scared me ten times more than any words could have. I would just hug him close to me, not caring that he said nothing. I knew he needed me.

Even though it was always a lot safer at our mom's, I dreaded the night there almost as much as I did at our dad's. And it wasn't because our mom was dreadfully poor; which there was no denying that she was, but we couldn't have cared less. The reason was because unlike at Dad's, Ryan would have nightmares—the type of nightmares where he would thrash violently in his sleep, tears mixing with the sweat on his cheeks. Even though we had different rooms at opposite ends of the hallway, somehow, I always knew exactly when his nightmare began. I would gently sit down on his bed and take him in my arms, rocking him back and forth while singing the same song over and over again in his ear. Only then would he quiet down and slip into more pleasant dreams, and I would go climb back into my own bed.

I never told him about it, because he would never remember. When he woke up in the morning, he couldn't recall the vaguest detail of the night before. I did not really want to be the one to tell him. The best way to explain it is if you've read the book Peter Pan; it is sort of like what Wendy does for Peter. Except Ryan is probably the farthest thing from Peter Pan you can find.

I couldn't bear the thought of what he would be like if he didn't have me. Ryan was deadly afraid of so many things; scary movies, big spiders, deep water, the list went on. I never got tired of taking care of and looking after my twin—because I loved him like the brother he was. He was depending on me, even if he didn't know he was; and I wasn't about to let him down.

But only a week into summer, I became utterly confused. I had woken up suddenly, in the middle of the night, and nothing made sense. Why did things smell so funny? Where was Ryan? Why was my cozy room filled with smoke and there an incessant siren above me somewhere?

And then it all clicked into place. The smell…the smoke…the siren…I began to scream at the top of my lungs.

"Fire, fire, FIRE!" My heart was going a million miles an hour, but I only had one thought on my mind—strike that, I had two; get the heck out of here and find Ryan. That kid couldn't differentiate between his right and left shoe nowadays, so there was no way he would be able to make it out of a burning house on his own steam.

I crammed my feet into my fluffy slippers and threw on a nearby bathrobe before tearing down the hallway to Ryan's room, remembering at the last minute to grab my purse on the bedside table. Yanking the door open, I saw to no small wonder that Ryan was sleeping straight through the alarm. Honestly.

"Ryan, get up!" He mumbled something incoherent and turned over. "Get up"

At last an actual reaction. He rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, trying to process everything at once. Blinking bewilderedly, he yawned.

"Wha-what's going on?" he asked tiredly as I tugged desperately on his arm.

"Mom's house is on fire; that's what's going on!!!" He finally got the hint that he should get out of bed. He blearily snatched an old, ugly grey hooded sweatshirt and beat up sneakers from his closet before running after me into the hallway. My eyes smarted from the sting of smoke and sudden wave of heat.

It seemed so impossible; our house on fire. Luckily it was a one-story house, so we didn't have far to run to get out of the already-blazing home. Our mother was already there, dialing 911 on her cell phone.

And so Ryan and I stood, hand in hand, in sneakers and slippers, watching the only true home we had ever known burn to ashes from across the street.

"Where are we going to go, Mom?" I questioned her, seeing that she was no longer talking on her cell phone. I followed Ryan's suit by staring into the licking orange, red, and white flames.

"Not to your father's, that's for sure. I get you both through July, and I'm not going to live off of your father's charity." Not like we were dying to see the guy anyways.

So much for "not living off of our father's charity"; the guy drove over the moment he heard what happened, offering to drive us to a friend's house; didn't matter who, he just didn't want to see Ryan or Mom more than he had to.

Our mom didn't wish to watch her tiny home burn to ashes but did not want our father driving us anywhere. So she fixed the problem by making Ryan drive all for of us down to a hotel to spend the night at.

But she hadn't planned on a car swerving out in front of us by the fast food restaurant. She hadn't planned on the sports car skidding dangerously on the cold, wet pavement as her son desperately tried to save her ex-husband's car from colliding with the van. No one had planned for our father's seatbelt to break, or for my headrest to snap out of place. I hadn't been planning for things to fade so quickly into black nothingness….

Z

"Who all is hurt?" The nurse asked, glancing around at the side-on collision before her in the parking lot.

"In the black Toyota, the college student has a few bruises, but other than that is fun. Not so good with this other crew, though. The mother is fine; just in shock. The boy who had been driving is also in shock but also shattered a bone in his knee—Brandon had him lie down on the side of the road until the ambulance arrives. The poor kid was still in the driver's seat when he got here, and we had to pry his hands off the steering wheel. Then there was a teenage girl in the back seat; her headrest wasn't stable so she snapped her neck really badly and she is still unconscious. The medics are loading her onto a stretcher as we speak"

"And…the man?"

"Stone dead. His seatbelt broke when the car collided, and his head went smashing through the side window, sending glass directly into his brain"

The nurse sighed sadly. "Is the woman calm enough to tell us some contact numbers, or medical information for the teenagers?"

"She told us all we needed to know, and I believe she is calling a cab to take them the rest of the way to their friend's house. Ironically enough, her own home just burned down"

The nurse blew a dark strand of hair out of her eye.

"This doesn't look to be a very promising start for these people's summer"

Z

I lazily bounced a wall ball off of my ceiling and practiced catching it at the last second. I was bored stiff of summer already and ready to go to school and see all my friends again. My dad was going to be the death of me, always insisting that I practice drills and other basketball nonsense. At least this way, if he walked in, I could pretend I was working on hand-eye coordination.

I was getting sick of everything; of my plain, boring white walls, of my annual Wildcats Basketball calendar, of my trophies sitting on top of my dresser, of my dull clothing piled in tipsy stacks all over the white carpet...even of my family…and even Gabriella.

I loved her to death, don't get me wrong. She was sweet, gorgeous, friendly, innocent…and just a ton of fun to be around. I loved seeing her every day…but that was the problem. Every day she came over to my house, and every day we goofed around my house. The tradition was shaken up a little by where we would hang out. My house, her house, TGI Friday's, Chili's, the basketball court, St. Regent's park, the local mall—but besides that small variation, everything was just the same thing after the same thing after the same thing.

I wanted something new and exciting to happen. When I first started dating Gabbi, everything was new and a surprise to me. Having a girlfriend was new to me, for Pete's sake. I loved being surprised by her little mannerisms and perks; the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, tilted her chin when she sang, and clapped her hands together when she was happy. But then I began to know it all just too well; she always tucked her hair behind her ear when she wasn't sure what to do, she always tilted her chin whenever she sang a song, and whenever she was happy she would clap her hands! I knew I was being a stick in the mud for thinking so, but I was dying for her to do something drastic and new…like start fighting with me about flirting with another girl, or maybe even break up with me!

Now that was an idea; I could do something terrible to make Gabbi break up with me. But what? I could always cheat on her with another…but why would I want to? I hated the thought of making Gabbi mad at me, or making her sad, and I became disgusted whenever I thought of any girl other than her.

Maybe that was my problem—I wanted change, but couldn't handle it. At any rate, I was just making circles inside my brain and getting nowhere.

I heard a gentle knock on my door, and automatically rolled my eyes. Inwardly betting myself ten dollars that it was my dad asking if I wanted to "play a little one-on-one", I mumbled an annoyed, "Come in"

But it was my mom who opened my poster-plastered door. There's something drastic; I just lost ten bucks to myself I couldn't help but think. I didn't take my eye off the ball and let her talk first.

"Troy…are you ever going to clean your room?" she asked gently. I shrugged, rolled my eyes, and did another catch. Spectacular! I mocked myself inwardly, my brain putting on the air of a sleazy TV show host. An absolutely spectacular catch made by Troy Bolton, earning you twenty thousand dollars, congratulations!

"Not likely"

"Well, here's some inspiration for you; the Evans are going to stay with us for a few months, and Mrs. Evans will be staying in your room," she told me calmly, almost as if she was remarking about how warm it had been lately.

The wall ball smacked me directly in the eye as I sat bolt upright in my bed. "What???"