So. This is my promised response to my challenge, in which I experiment with a new style: I've noticed that, in most of my favorite books, the sentences are really, really bad. I mean, absolutely horribly written. But the thing is, when I've read them, I don't really read the sentences, I just let the words sink in and understand what the sentences are trying to say. So, this is a very badly written story meant to be interpreted beautifully.

I have, once again, made no sense. Anyway, I've also incorporated some humor, because I really can't stay away from the stuff, and the thing in which the narrator knows that the story is being read.

Disclaimer: I have way too much fun with this to actually own any part of it.

The greatest actors and actresses on Broadway aren't the ones you read about in the papers, much. Sure, they get pretty statues and stars on the streets, and they get written up, but when all is said and done, all the general population knows about Broadway acting usually consists of the current movie stars making their forays onto the stage. Gwyneth Paltrow. Julia Roberts. Paul Rudd. Ralph Fiennes. Cynthia Nixon. David Schwimmer. That's enough examples. The funny thing is, none of these celebrities were in musicals. But their presence certainly boosted public interest in Broadway, which was always welcome.

But the greatest players of the stage don't really care about the reviews and the statues or even public recognition. At least, that is the opinion of Sharpay Evans, and she has a right to broadcast that opinion. Right now, she is one of the greatest. Anyway, the greatest players of the stage don't want anything that material. Because they know that if you're good enough, if you're the best for long enough, they won't ever need to write your name down. Because you'll be legend. Katherine Hepburn legend, only on the stage, and more musical.

And so, Sharpay Evans set out after high school to become one of those legends, studying at NYU and trying desperately to land roles. After several years of work, despair, living on celery and peanut butter, she got a call back.

She only made understudy, but her literal foot was in the metaphorical door.

She got more call backs, larger roles, rave reviews. The work did wonders for her temper: Sharpay Evans now gets mad in half the time and twice as violently. She's one of the most feared and most revered leading ladies on Broadway. Ryan is, as he always has been, the other twin, the one who can dance. The one who was slightly more sane.

But today, Sharpay Evans was pacing a nice bowl-shape into her hardwood floor. Ryan watched her amusedly from in front of the kitchen sink, eating a cookie. Over the sink. There was no need for words; the twins had gotten past the need for verbal communication.

The reason for such a stressful exercise stemmed from this: Although Broadway consisted of several hundred musicals over the years, only a few had been developed into movies. And those were the ones that drew huge crowds to the theaters of New York. Only about two or three other productions had made pop culture acclaim without the use of the cinema.

Of these select few, Sharpay had starred in Chicago, RENT, Avenue Q, and Wicked. Today, Phantom of the Opera was being revived (again), and here was the problem: There was only one star. There was only one Christine; the other role went to Carlotta, who, as Sharpay never failed to include in her nervous ramblings, "Isn't even in half the scenes! And she's fat!" Whether or not these accusations were true was never debated by any members of her posse, Ryan included.

She'd drawn critical acclaim as Glinda, the good witch. Roxie and Velma. If she lost Mimi, she could at least get Maureen. (Which never happened, but she was comforted by the fact)

So, this morning, simply being the best available right now wasn't enough for her, because if she lost this, it was over. She would end up like Morgan Freemont, who she beat out for the part of Roxie, who couldn't cut it as Velma, who was now pulling off the part of Pegeen in Mame. No. No, she wasn't 30 yet, she could do this.

She took one last turn before pausing in front of the full length mirror that hung, strangely, on her refrigerator. She had woken up especially early to achieve the curled bedhead look she worked into her straight hair. And she was finally thin enough to wear white. White was good, white meant innocence, white was Christine's color.

Ryan reached out a hand and brushed her arm. She looked up at him, and smiled, tightly, and he grinned back. He ran her through "All I Ask of You," their agreed-upon practice song because he was going for Raoul. She had the same problem as Emmy Rossum: A good range, but not-so-good control of it. Of course, he didn't point this out to her. The rest of the Broadway population had heard of her audition and knew better than to show up. Nothing could go wrong. Sharpay was bouncing up and down on the balls of her feet, and Ryan sighed. He'd have to run her through vocal warm-ups and "All I Ask of You" again.

She snapped her fingers continuously as they made their way downstairs, partly to keep the time in her head, partly to summon the ten people from their various apartments who made up her posse.

Today was going to be good. Today was going to go fine. Sharpay Evans swept into the theater with the Ice Queen air she had worked so hard to perfect in high school.

But, of course, when people tell themselves that everything will go fine, nothing ever goes fine.

How was my attempt? Hideously bad? Strange? Should I just chop off my hand and leave it here to shrivel?

Eww...

I hope you'll have as much fun reading this as I have had writing it. Maybe it's just me. I had fun adding in references to other works, and if you can find the Friends reference in here, I'll...do something nice. I know someone caught it.

Review! Please? I have all the chapters written.