Normally, nerds don't stalk star basketball players.

Especially on a New Year's Party thrown by said star player's best friend.

Of course, yours truly here is no nerd, by any sense of the word. Most tragically though, students at East High have defaced the meaning of the word so drastically that now it's taken to be along the lines of: someone who's keen towards their academics/worries about education/is a strong opponent of fashion slavery/does homework and, like, actually studies/does not let other's behavioral expectations influence them in any way, etc., etc.

In other words, a perfect and clear-cut characterization of yours truly. Big smile.

Common sense and intelligence are so obsolete.

But of course. I never claimed to be normal either. The fact that I'm a determined, confident girl (read: shameless, bare-faced whore) whose actions are dictated by the lower region of her anatomy instead of her infamously huge brain (read: shameless, bare-faced whore who's sexually frustrated and tired of her insurmountable lust for a certain someone) is also of help here. Of immense help, actually. Don't worry; my friends have indeed tried – however pointlessly and futilely – to hammer some sense into my apparently-thick and impermeable skull, but I hold my ground, thank you very much. If anything, their sense-hammering and conscience-shaking acts only paid to make my will stronger and more immune to opinions, in a way that it shall not break anytime soon.

Cue: drum roll.

Delicious boy, here we come.

___

"God, you're archaic," whined dearest Sharpay Evans, giving my outfit a disgusted once-over. Well, paint my toenails ten different colors and call me insane, I did love such heart-felt compliments. "Who wears overalls to parties?"

I flashed her a big smile. "Well, for one, I do."

She regarded my answer with a gracious (cough, cough; Sharpay Evans is anything but gracious) eye-roll. "Yeah, but you're disregarding the fact that you're from Planet Freak."

"Oh my God Sharpay, that's so sweet!"

"Gabriella, don't start with me—"

"Like, sweet like a soufflé—"

"Shut up." I obeyed. For once. Bless me. "Go wear this dress."

Something frilly and pink and definitely not comfortable came flying out of nowhere and latched itself onto my head. I shook myself free with a squeak, horrified. Sharpay stared.

"What the heck is this... this thing?"

"It's a dress. D-R-E—"

"S-S, I know," I beamed back.

"Good." The sarcasm was there, peeking through her words conspicuously, leering, but I ignored it. Pst. "Now," a more menacing edge appeared, "go change into it."

My answer was quick. And, judging by the look on her face, immensely irritating. Oh well. "No, I'm a liberal individual with an individual ideology and the right to do what I want. I will not cave in to such blatant bullying, Sharpay, I tell you, for I am—"

Sharpay blinked, looking quite like an owl. Or parakeet. Take your pick, because owl and parakeet were really alike. "Um, Gabriella?"

Ah, polite Sharpay. She was rare and decidedly unnerving, but dammit, I loved her. "Yes, sweetie?"

"Listen to me, and listen carefully, OK?"

I nodded.

"Just snap out of this Insanity Mode for today, OK?"

"What?!" My jaw dropped open, hitting the floor with a bang and coming undone from my skull. It rolled under the dresser, rendering me jawless. Come next would the tears.

But behold! Because, to my credit, Sharpay did appear quite alarmed. Ha, ha. "Will you do it if I said please?"

I pretended to mull over it, smirking mentally. A pleading Sharpay was not very becoming. I made a show of heaving a very, very melancholy sigh and said, "Fine, I relent. I will."

Sweet Sharpay vaporized on the spot and Bitchy Sharpay took the throne. She spun around on her heels, going back to contemplating her oh-so-interesting reflection in her floor-length mirror. "Good, 'cause I ain't saying it."

I sighed, disappointed. Damn it! Why was I such a pushover? "But Sharpay! I need my endless energy to be sapped away so that I wouldn't do something insane during the actual stalkery. You know about my violent tendencies."

Carbohydrates were not good for my sanity.

And let's just say my carbohydrate consumption that day hadn't exactly been reasonable.

"You're saying you still have any energy left?" She looked at me incredulously, which caused me to roll my eyes. Hello? It was your fridge I nicked food from, you dope! You should know how much I ate. "Well, save this leftover energy for the actual party, yeah? Playing tonsil hockey takes up a lot of energy, trust me."

"You forget. I'm going to be stalking him."

"Oh, silly me. Yes, you are."

"That requires like this much energy." I held up my index and middle finger, leaving about a millimeter between them.

"Honey, you've made a wrong assumption."

"No, I've not!" I glared nuclear bombs at her. "Well?"

"Go change your dress, at least!" she exclaimed exasperatedly.

Fine, I admit, I'm annoying. No wait, I suck. Crush me with your glorious pinky, you generous witch; I won't mind. It's not like I have inferiority complex or anything. Should I kneel down to make it easier? Or lie flat on the floor? Just say the word, dear witch.

I refrained from voicing out my thoughts. "I'm not wearing anything pink."

She puckered her lips in disappointment. Like she was the one bearing all the torture. I swear, kids these days were, like, so ungrateful. "Okay. How about this red one?"

I observed the dress she held up. It was a red dress, as she'd so obviously informed me, one with a handkerchief hemline that'd fall just above my knees. Like hell I was going to wear a dress that looked like it'd been made of Cinderella's rags joined together using Super Glue. "Sharpay? Ew."

"Like I said, you're archaic."

I puffed my cheeks and exhaled, blowing my fringe out of my face. "Can we please, please return to the topic at hand? I really appreciate you stripping me of any self-esteem with your humble talons, but focus."

Why couldn't she hand me a dress that was pretty and reasonable without shouting 'HELLO, I'M AN ENORMOUS SLUT' in everyone's face? Her dress was pretty; silver and sparkly, accessorized by an alarming amount of beady necklaces and bracelets she'd draped around her dainty neck and wrists. On the other hand, it showed a hell lot of cleavage and leg, both of which I liked to put on display as little as possible. So most of the time, I went for skinny jeans and tops, which were conservative and comfortable so it was a win-win for me. However, today I was in Sharpay Evans's house, left to the mercy of one and only Sharpay Evans, and my closet was back at my own home. So... no skinny jeans and tops for me, nope.

Because God forbid if Sharpay let me.

The door flung open at the exact moment and Taylor came in, huffing and puffing like a kettle on a stove in her four-inch high heels. She was shuffling through her clutch, frowning.

"Damn it, I don't know why I'm even bothering to go to that lunkhead's house," she muttered.

Which was ridiculous, seeing as she was wearing an uncharacteristically revealing dress. And had actually straightened her hair. And she might as well have had a 'I'M REALLY LOOKING FORWARD TO IT!' sign flashing on her forehead in neon pink lights. Pst.

Sharpay snorted indelicately. "Because you're wishing for a hook-up?" she offered bluntly.

Taylor scoffed in a way only she could. "Please. Spare me the dramatics."

Taylor suffered from what I'd call teenage-crush-syndrome. The incessant bickering, the behind-his-back bashing, the making-him-jealous acts, the sexual tension in general. All things practically spelled DENIAL.

Ha ha.

She looked up; saw me sitting on Sharpay's bed wearing those glorious over-alls. She gaped. "And why aren't you ready yet? If I remember right, tonight is the date for that stalking mission of yours, isn't it?"

I pretended to be offended. Making a sweeping gesture towards my viciously-condemned party-attire with my hands, I said, "Hello? I'm dressed and all! I'm even wearing earrings, see?" To prove my point, I stuck out my ear.

Ignoring my earring-clad ear, she looked at Sharpay blankly. "Is she serious?"

"Apparently."

"Come on, you guys," I said, rolling my eyes. "Why do you think I need to be dolled up and all? Tonight I'm a stalker. Stalkers watch from the shadows, the sidelines. Stalkers do not demand attention. Stalkers repel people. Stalkers lurk." I looked at them expectantly. "Comprende?"

But Taylor was already buried deep in Sharpay's closet, searching through dresses for me. What, so now I was so worthless they couldn't even bother for me to finish my sentences? I huffed and pouted, but when no one seemed to be paying attention, I dropped it. With a real pout, mind you.

Taylor retrieved from the closet as Sharpay made her way in and out of the washroom. "Go. Change. No excuses."

"Okay. Fine. No problem."

I sighed and took the electric blue dress from her. Forget about living in the shadows; that dress could give you headaches.

___

I rode shotgun in Sharpay's car on the ride to the Danforth house. Only when I saw it did I find out that it was a house by no means; it was practically a palace. Well, at first glance it was. However, seeing as any human being with a normal amount of energy in them would find it excruciatingly hard to tear their eyes away, let alone guide those poor babies back towards it for a second glance, it might appear as a palace to many people; but due to my impossibly large carbohydrate consumption and unbreakable will, I did detach my eyes, blink them twice and took a second glance. I admit, on second thought, the house was not as big as a palace, but was merely a mansion.

But that was a given, seeing as Chad's parents were both well-established and renowned dentists of Albuquerque. That just went out to say that Chad Danforth was one of 'those' kids of the school: the elite. Those rich, 'ruler' kids of our school who had their own shiny four-wheeled toys to show off all the time (normally, we call these toys cars), wore up-to-date clothes of well-known brands and were basically, you know, kind of dumb. You get the picture.

Thing was, Troy Bolton seemed to be one of those people. But, with him, the whole rich-kid behavior just added to the sex appeal.

So maybe I was biased.

Besides, it wasn't like Troy was dumb. I used that word rather loosely, I fear. I knew for a fact that he'd gotten an A on the last History test, and he actually paid attention during Biology. Point: Troy Bolton was actually rather smart, which is the exact opposite of dumb. Understood?

"Gabs," Sharpay said, flicking her hair over her shoulder. Sometimes I wished I hadn't cut my hair up to my chin so that I'd be able to do that flicking thing like her. But I doubted that even with long flickable hair I'd manage to accomplish the feat with such enviable grace and style. Just goes to say how much of a dork I am. Sigh. "Just know that I still think you're a freak for doing this."

I opened my mouth to reply, but Taylor cut me off, "Yes, about that," she turned to me, cocked her head, "you still have time. Reconsider it."

"I know what I'm doing." I tried to sound dismissive and cold.

"It's still so creepy!"

"And freaky!"

Failed obviously.

For a moment, I glared penetratingly at the two. They seemed to be cowering under my glare and I initiated a victory dance in my head. Just then, Sharpay decided to cruelly burst my bubble.

"Let's go inside before she gets down to doing something more insane than, oh, squinting like mad."

I shook my head blankly. "I was glaring. Glaring."

The Blonde Bitch and the Black-haired Bitch turned towards each other simultaneously, mouthing, "Ooooh!"

Okay, let them be that way. Tonight, I decided smugly, they'd be receiving what we usually called a cold shoulder. Then again, the temperature was so low that I worried everyone might have a cold shoulder. Shoot, what a joy-killer weather was. Rubbing our arms, and in my case teeth chattering too, we made our way inside.

The house was practically pounding.

I shit thou not.

"SHARPAY!"

I might have cringed at that point. And might have plugged fingers in my ears. Don't worry though, it wasn't like I was momentarily rendered deaf by that shriek.

Because I totally was.

"Mother fucker," Sharpay hissed under her breath. She turned around and smiled saccharinely at the blonde, stick-thin ear-wrecker. Otherwise known as Tiara Gold. "Tiara! Oh em gee!"

Momentarily forgetting our quarrel, Taylor and I snickered at each other. Tiara was not someone you'd ever wish to be in close vicinity of if you cherished the ability to hear and the ability to see. Hearing because she never spoke without shrieking, and sight because she always wore blindingly golden and/or silver outfits. Of late, she'd taken a liking to Sharpay's taste regarding fashion, and was under the impression that pursuing attempts – however unwelcome and uninvited – to befriend her would be good for her 'inner fashion whore'. Her words, not mine.

Sharpay, however, disagreed.

And with good reason, too.

"Shar, we're gonna mingle, 'kay?" I smiled – smirked, rather – at her glaring form, in a way that shouted, "Serves you right for not letting me wear those over-alls, you biatch!" Let's just say I was not exactly an angel.

Ah, revenge is sweet.

You think?

Taylor excused herself too, trying to control her own very-obvious smirk as we weaved our way through the mass of bodies. I grinned at her. "Serves her right, nay?"

"Amen."

I looked at her, surprised. "I thought you were on her team?"

"Oh, definitely not. I think what you're doing is great, actually."

Is it the Apocalypse? I raised an eyebrow at her. She rolled her eyes. "What about the incessant bugging-the-hell-out-of-Gabriella-about-her-stalking-mission?"

"Propriety. All for the sake of propriety. Your best friend should try to stop you if you're indulging in freakish activities like, I don't know, stalking star basketball player? And I did."

"Oh, that's a very logical reason," I said, scowling at her. "By the way, I will never forgive you."

I could feel her smirking. In my very bones. In the marrow of my marrow. "I'm not asking for—Ooomph!"

I turned around, alarmed, just in time to see Taylor collapse with a big, curly-haired wall of muscle.

"Well, well, look who's here."

Justice finally privileged to humungously tortured girl Gabriella. Thank you, higher powers up there. Serves Black-haired Bitch right.

Taylor turned to me, scowl melting into a disappointed frown. She clicked her tongue and shook her head at Chad. "And this is the host."

I ignored her and smiled pleasantly at Chad. "Hey, Chaddy! What's up, buddy? Ooh, that rhymed."

Chad and I were good friends. That came with me being an insane freak and him being the infamous clown. He grinned, high-fiving me. "Sup, Gabby! Didn't see you there! Oops, massive bitch blocking my view!"

That was a routine we went through to bug the pisses out of Taylor.

It worked. All the time.

Tonight was no exception.

"Excuse me while you get chummy, yeah?" She tried to move.

"What, McKessie? No biting Chad's head off today?" He pouted in disappointment. I could see the desire brimming in Taylor's eyes. Awww.

"I don't feel right about doing that in your own house. Move."

I left them there, disappearing silently. They could go on for ages, those two. It was about time they got their heads out of their asses and got together, damn it. There was no denying that their little chit-chat would be entertaining, but I had my own businesses to look after—

Target spotted filling a glass from the punch bowl. Yours truly stands unnoticed three meters away.

Yours truly: 1
Star Basketball Player: 0

Game is on, baby.

____

An hour later, target had been caught making visits to the toilet... three times.

Of course there was nothing remotely normal about that.

First time, it was 'okay' with me. Second time, it was 'oh fine'. Third time, it was something along the lines of: 'what the hell?'

Thing was, that fact could influence my new-found fetish for Troy Bolton in a bad way, ultimately affecting me in a good way. Catching him in a moment of imperfection or bad luck would, needless to say, break this unwavering paradigm I'd created in my head about him. Thus effectively putting an end to my obsession.

The primary prompt for this stalking business had been my absurd desire to observe him, watch him, devour him, unnoticed. Initially, there'd been something sexy about the notion. Now, what with his frequent visits to the toilet? Not so much.

But Sharpay had been right about one thing. This stalking business was draining, as I found out a mere hour later. I was bored, tired, and hungry. I thought about the Danforth's stadium-sized kitchen. Thought about their fridge. The heavenly food in it.

My stomach growled. Growled again. And again.

I growled. "Fine, fine, but don't take any longer than five minutes. We'll lose him," I muttered. I looked around; just to make sure he was there. He wasn't. "Don't worry, we've already lost him."

My stomach growled again, and all thought of Troy Bolton flew out of my mind. Because when my stomach growled, the world was just me and my stomach.

Bumping into people and muttering excuses, I made my way towards the kitchen. I stopped in the doorway and shook my head. Since when were kitchens the size of football fields?

My gaze fell on the fridge.

And then slipped to the person standing in front of it.

Target found devouring an apple in a way yours truly would want to devour him. Yours truly stands unnoticed in the doorway, staring at his profile.

"Oops?"

Yes, I clearly was a genius.

He looked around, startled. Munched on the bite of apple, swallowed and narrowed his eyes. My heart galloped.

"You. Again."

So maybe I should've made my intentions clear. I mean, about why I was here. Now he'd think I was stalking him. Was I ever stalking him! "What?"

He looked at me strangely, like I was some weird creature. Which wasn't saying much, seeing as I was pretty weird. "You scare me."

"Oops?"

In that moment, I found what a great conversationalist I was. Seriously. After that little show of my conversation skills, I might have stared (read: ogled) at him for a few seconds, but I swear that was it.

And by it, I mean it.

"It's rude to stare," he snapped. Oh my God, that was such a turn-on.

"I'm not staring," I snapped back. "I'm merely observing you, as a normal person with no personal interest in... well, you."

Mind: Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up!

Mouth: Nope! Let's all babble!

"Well?" He tilted his head, watching me with narrowed eyes.

"I'm watching you."

"Uh, I'm aware?"

"Uh huh. I know what you're doing."

He threw his hands up in surrender, narrowed eyes opening wide. "Okay, I'm scared. What do you want?"

I wanted to run. Get away from there, get those damned heels unstrapped, run to my house, lock my door, hide, pull my lower lip over my body, hide and disappear—

"You," I blurted out. My eyes widened. So did his. Wow, did you see that? Such coordination! We were a match made in heaven. "Oh. Oh, no. I mean your... thing... or something." Thing? My God! "No wait. I don't want your thing. I mean... nothing. Nope, none at all. Good day to you, sir. Have a nice... night. Or something."

Marvel at my genius! Applaud me, please!

Yes, that'd do, thank you very much. Now be generous and kill me.

Now, a normal human being with a normal amount of energy would've fled after getting themselves stranded in such an awkward situation. But since I was a girl with endless energy and an unbreakable will, I snatched the half-eaten apple from his hand, made the mistake of looking into his ocean-blue eyes, returned the apple, and fled.

But... what could I do? He looked so scared.

__

In my haste to get away, I bumped into someone. Looking up, I rolled my eyes.

Jimmy "Rocket" Zara. Two words: Bad news.

"Whoa, Montez, that ass is out of the world!"

But Jimmy "Rocket" Zara, drunk? Three words: Very bad news.

"Yeah, well, kiss it!"

Gabriella Montez, annoyed? Two words: Worst news.

He snaked his stick-thin arms around my waist. That, I must say, was the last straw.

I kicked the bastard where it burns.

"Oww! Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"

That's the right mantra, bud.

Needless to say, my little encounter with the limp noodle attracted a modicum of attention. But my eyes searched for only one person. Who was under the impression that I wanted him, or worse, wanted his thing.

Speak of the devil.

His blue eyes met mine as I commanded my heart not to burst out of my chest, fleetingly, and then flew away. But in that fleeting second, I'd caught the laughter in them.

Delicious boy, you're dead meat.

___

Hell was about to break loose.

Sharpay Evans had been pushed into the pool in all her pink glory. By none other than dearest Tiara Gold.

Let me rewind.

It'd all started with that ear-wrecker. She managed to get Sharpay's blood boil up like no one else could. Throughout the two hours of being at the party, the ear-wrecker had stuck to Sharpay like a hairy wart, tailing her everywhere she went. Somehow, because she was Sharpay, she'd been able to shake her off and find a very sneaky, high-on-orange-juice me lurking in the shadows in Danforths' backyard. She ripped me out of the shadows, scrutinized my thunder-stuck expression and rolled her eyes.

"Thank God," she stage-whispered. "Thank. God."

Since I was a very observant and caring person, I instantly knew she was pissed off. "It's okay, Shar. You're safe."

"Shut up," she hissed. "That fucking Tiara person is like a fucking leech!"

I nodded in understanding and watched her breathe heavily. "Yes, she is." I felt her forehead. "Are you sure you're okay? Do you want to go home?"

She pushed – no, shoved – my hand away, frowning. "I'm fine, Gabriella! Stop fretting, idiot." Well, gee, such gratitude. "I just need some air. I swear, that Tiara person is like a life-force sucking... thing... or something."

"Well, okay." I rolled my eyes at her dramatics. I mean, sheesh.

Prior to that very entertaining conversation, I'd been busy keeping an eye on our dearest target, otherwise known as star basketball player, who was hanging out with some girls near the pool, groping an ass here, sucking a face there.

Assholes were such a turn-on.

"How's the stalking going?"

"It's—" I clenched my teeth as Melissa Ward wrapped her arms around him. "Oh?" I squeaked as he attempted to push her off. Wait, what?

Troy: 1
Clingy whore: 0

Ha ha.

I might have proceeded to crack my face from the huge grin that spilled there. Keyword: might.

Sharpay looked between me and where he stood and smirked. "Oh."

Suddenly, her smirk dropped splat on the floor and she turned around, hiding behind me. But the bomb, as they say, was already dropped.

"SHARPAY!"

"Kill me."

I watch, stupefied, as she grabbed Sharpay's arm and dragged her towards the edge of the pool. Next thing I heard was a splash of water, then—

"YOU BITCH! AAAAAAARGH!"

And then a few sweet profanities to fill the silence that followed.

I stood transfixed, vaguely aware of the pandemonium that broke out as soon as Sharpay braced herself against the poolside to get out, and thought about whether I'd live this or not.

"Move! If you cherish your life, RUN! FLEE! HIDE!"

Chad's booming voice geared me into action and I ran. I ran, ran, bumped into a girl, ran, bumped into a boy, ran, bumped into a table, and ran. Then ran some more.

That was how I ended up in the balcony. Balconies had always had a sentimental value for me, for some reason. That, plus the fact that I was in dire need to get some fresh air after all the running, it ought to have been a good place to end up in.

However, it was not.

Target found leaning against the railing. Yours truly stands three meters away, about to learn that karma is a fucking bitch.

His eyes widened.

"Don't worry, I'm just going to go," I muttered, turning around. "Yeah."

"No, wait."

I feared I might have turned around too eagerly. "Yeah?"

"I know who you are," he accused. Yes, accused. What was I supposed to say? Oh, my bad? Yeah, right.

"I know who you are, too," I accused right back. Ha, take that, Bolton.

"Yeah, well, everyone knows who I am." He grinned, wariness in his eyes disappearing.

That cocky bastard. I supposed I should have taken offense at that, but his adorable grin coaxed that tiny, momentary spark of indignation away. "Everyone knows who I am too, buddy," I retorted.

"Don't sound so sure."

"Don't sound so sure yourself."

He raised his hands in surrender. He seemed to do that a lot around me. Maybe I just brought out a different side in him. Ha. "Okay, can you honestly say that you don't know my favourite color?" he challenged, smirking.

Why would I know his favourite color?

Oh, maybe because I stalked him 24/7.

Point noted.

I honestly could not. I knew his favourite color. It was red. Red, as in the color of my cheeks right now. "I don't know your favourite color."

He didn't seem to be thinking the same. Maybe we weren't such a match made in heaven after all.

He cocked his head. "Really?"

"Really, truly."

"Fine," he chuckled. I found myself wondering how one chuckle could evoke such sparks in my spine. "Can you honestly say that you don't know what subjects I like?"

History, Maths and Physics. Like hell I was going to tell him that though. "I don't know what subjects you like, you self-centered ass."

That just seemed to amuse him more. His grin widened infinitesimally, as if he knew I was lying and thought it was pretty useless. The fact that I liked him did not mean I couldn't try to hammer some modesty into his so-full-of-himself skull. Take the opportunity, Gabriella. Go ahead; be brave.

"Surprising," he mused. Asshole; he didn't look so scared anymore. "Can you honestly say that I don't know what you're up to?"

What?

I gulped. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you honestly think I don't know you?"

I didn't answer. What was he getting at?

"Do you honestly think that I don't think about you frequently?"

My heart skipped a beat. "Troy, I've gotta—"

"Can you honestly say that I'm lying when I say you would kiss me now if you could?" He smiled innocently. "Yeah, Gabriella?"

I couldn't. I so, so couldn't. "I gotta go," I mumbled. "See you later. Maybe. Yup."

I was wrong before. Game is on now, baby.

___

Drunk Taylor was not very becoming.

Drunk Taylor playing tonsil hockey with an equally drunk Chad Danforth was not very becoming either.

Of course, they didn't return my sentiments. I figured, during my short absence, they'd finally gotten their heads out of their asses. Taylor might have jumped Chad, or it might have been the other way around. Though Chad jumping Taylor wouldn't have resulted in a make-out session; it would have resulted in a heap of limbs.

"Go Taylor," I shouted to Taylor, giving her thumbs-up sign. She ignored me and continued to be a face-sucker.

Sharpay, as I found later, had changed into a baggy dress that came down to her ankles. Much later, Tiara was found hiding in an upstairs bedroom.

Target has not been seen or reported to be seen since the balcony incident. Yours truly is experiencing humungous tornados in her stomach, feeling like she might throw up any second.

Sometime earlier, Sharpay had come to break some news.

"Tiara and I made up," she smirked.

I rolled my eyes. Endless energy, as it seemed, was finally running short. "I don't understand why you just don't, like, tell her to fuck off."

"No, you don't understand. I'm playing her at her own game." Another smirk.

I frowned. "Which means?"

"You'll find out soon." Another smirk, and she strolled off.

After that, she decided to get drunk and make out. Taylor, too, decided something similar.

Which left me to stand like among copious amounts of unknown people in the Danforth's backyard, waiting for the New Year's countdown to start.

I was bored, lonely and confused. My friends had abandoned me. My energy, too, was steadily abandoning me.

Yeah,
Yeah, I'ma up at Brooklyn,
Now I'm down in Tribeca,
Right next to DeNiro,
But I'll be hood forever,
I'm the new Sinatra,
And since I made it here,
I can make it anywhere,
Yeah they love me everywhere,
I used to cop in Harlem,
All of my dominicanos

Oh yay. I really needed all that rap on top of those stomach-tornados to make my day, thank you.

"20!"

A new year was on its way. I ran my hand through my hair, making resolutions for the upcoming year and watching my fellow students kiss and hug and make gestures of love.

For one, I would never, ever stalk anyone again.

It did not result in good things, as I'd learned.

"19!"

I would never stick random notes and papers between the pages of my textbooks. It was unprofessional and messy, and besides, there were places for junk paper to be placed in, namely dust bins.

"18!"

I would grow my hair back. "Your waist-length hair was, like, your trademark," dearest cousin Joyce had informed me, appalled. That'd be my way to get back in her good books, at least.

And oh, I would actually clean my room, instead of stuffing all the junk under my bed.

"17!"

I would refrain from drinking Generic Cola. It was plain and boring, and I was simply too quirky to drink plain and boring stuff.

Oh, that reminded me. I would abolish this 'weird, quirky and insane' behavior and be a plain... doll, or something.

"16!"

"15!"

"HAPPY NEW YEAR, GABS!" Taylor and Chad. Grinning like idiots. Waving.

In other words: A hilarious sight.

I found myself grinning back. "Happy new year, Chaylor!"

I simply could not help myself. They were too adorable.

"14!"

Someone shoved me to the left. I shoved them back. I watched as the boy ran forward, in his haste shoving some other people, and enveloped a small girl in a bear hug.

I smiled.

"13!"

I would give up on Troy Bolton. It was just an obsession, and he was simply not my type.

Yeah, right.

"12!"

"11!"

"10!"

But most importantly, I would never, ever stalk anyone.

Just as I made my final resolution and decided to go find Sharpay, someone grabbed my waist, roughly, like I was a rag doll. The world literally spun, prompting me to lose my balance. Well, there we go. Way to start a New Year. With a fall. Who was this mysterious person? And with a murder. Get your filthy hands off my eyes, you kidnapper! Closing my eyes and wincing, I prepared myself to turn into a heap of limbs.

Odd.

A fall consisted of copious pain and, like, actually falling down. All I felt was a pair of lips fervently sucking on mine.

Did I accidently die and got kissed by an angel without knowing?

Fearfully, I cracked open an eye. And nearly screamed.

Uh, I don't think so.

"9!"

"8!"

As it turned out, Troy Bolton and I were kissing.

"7!"

Screw all resolutions, I'm back to being a stalker. Ha.

We kissed for a few seconds. Actually, I just stood with my arms pinned to my side, like a limp noodle, while he made with the kissage.

And no, I was not that lazy. I was just numb in his arms.

I resisted the urge to snort. That wouldn't have been very lady-like at the moment.

His lips were rough against mine. Which was pretty weird, because the kiss was oddly gentle.

"6!"

He broke away. And looked at me.

"You're weird," I said, eyes wide.

My mouth and my brain did not work on the same wavelength.

"Not weirder than you though," he said, grinning.

I disagreed.

"5!"

"Wait – did you just kiss me?"

"No, I was merely testing the flavor of your lip gloss."

"See, I knew it." I squinted at him. "You don't even know me."

"Contrary to what you think, I know you pretty well."

"4!"

He rubbed his neck. Looked away. Looked back at me. Smiled sheepishly.

"Yeah?"

"3!"

"Listen. I like you. You're weird and crazy, but I like you. Or something."

"Yeah? Well, telling the girl you like that she's scary is hardly a way to get your sentiments across, dear boy." I scowled at him.

"I'm sorry? Besides, you said you wanted my... thing... or something."

I rolled my eyes. He was never going to let me live that down, was he?

"2!"

"I stalked you," I blurted.

His lips quirked upward. "I know."

I gasped.

"1!"

I stood on my tiptoes and pressed my lips to his. I didn't care about him being the star basketball player, or me being the nerd that stalked him, or our weird conversations, or anything. This was a new beginning.

Screw the past. Ha ha.

"Happy new year!"

Fireworks exploded above our heads.

"Happy new year, weird stalker girl."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, yeah, happy new year, delicious boy."

He tasted of apples. Ironic?

Hell yeah.

"What are you thinking?"

"Who says I'm thinking anything?"

"The expression on your face does."

"You taste of apples," I blurted.

Go me.

But to my credit, he smiled an amused smile and kissed me.

When we finally broke away, Troy suggested something wonderful. "So you claim that I don't know you well, huh? How about we get to know each other over dinner tomorrow? I'll buy." He looked at me expectantly and nervously.

What does he think I'm going to say? 'Oh, I think I'll pass?'

Yeah, like hell I'm going to give up a chance to 'get to know him'.

Ha ha.

"I think that's a great idea." I smiled giddily. He exhaled.

I pecked his cheek.

--

Delicious boy, want to know a secret? I really, really like you.

___