Author's Note: Finally, right? Megan was way too lazy to update it herself, so I just wrote it myself. I'm not sure if it's as good as Troy's but I tried! This story is going a little AU: just pretend that instead of Troy and Gabriella dating, they're still friends crushing hard. Even through the second movie. Kay?

Also, I'm formally joining Team Hudgens. V-fenders for the win! Check the profile, it's been totally revamped, for your viewing pleasures. (:

PLEASE REVIEW!!

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Um, I'm really unsure how to start this paper …after all, I'm not much experienced writing to a classroom object. But I guess I'll start formally, as I normally would to anyone else I'd be writing to. My name is Gabriella Montez. I'm seventeen years old and I'm actually currently a senior. I'd like to point out a few things to you and let you know things about me that would normally freak out any other human …

Object …

Err …

Yeah …

Okay, well, anyways. Number one: I'm an analytical genius. Meaning in my own special terms that I read into things too much and I like math. So, you're still there (I'm ignoring the fact that you can't actually move) so I'll continue. I'm allergic to kosher cheese, but that's not the reason I wasn't ever invited to a bar mitzvah. And, I can't whistle. So I think that sums me up pretty well.

So, how do you like East High? I suppose you get to see everyone who passes by …you know, the scantily clad populars or the Abercrombie and Fitch wearing wannabes. I think those people should invest in Target or something, because honestly, whoever started the whole "holes in your jeans means you're a hardcore hottie" trend needs to swallow a knife.

Ooh, clever Gabriella Montez, making the surrounding people think you're sweet-as-sugar …

I think it's really sad that I have to wear the stamp of innocence on my forehead. Has anyone not ever heard of "girls just wanna have fun"? Apparently not, because I'm restricted to manners and etiquette. If I ever have to go through another kiddie explanation about something rated higher than G, I think I might run to the nearest living object and beat it hard with a stick.

See? I said living. So you're safe.

Okay, don't get touchy.

Okay, this might seem random but don't you hate when people scratch their fingernails on you? Who's the clever child that came up with that? I figure it might be annoying and cringe-inducing for us, but for you …I mean, god …someone's just like scratching the crap out of you …

I told you! Over analytical!

Bah. Now I've gotten worked up and I have a hand cramp. In times like these, I usually go and eat a cookie. But we're working in an extended homeroom, and Ms. Darbus unfortunately does not have a convenient stock of cookies on hand. Maybe she's on a diet or something. She should buy some of the diet cookies, then, and feed them to her class. I'm looking around the room for inspiration to 'expand the horizons of my creative energy and fleeting soul'. All I see is Taylor looking ready to stab a basketball, Chad with a pencil balancing on the bridge of his nose, and Troy sitting on the floor, writing beside his desk.

And I'm here, sitting on top of a desk, staring into the black abyss known as your surface my blackboard friend.

I find it rather amusing that Troy's sitting on the floor while he writes to his object. It's a chair, if I'm not mistaken. He takes things really seriously …one time when we were at Sharpay's country club, I looked out the dance studio window and I saw him dancing like a barefoot ballerina. I had a cookie in my mouth at the time (leg cramps!) and I ended up spitting it out in laughter. Later on in life, I made a joke about it and he told me to go sing something.

I don't think he wanted me to start singing that song, though.

The boy's hilarious, my gosh. Even if I do end up laughing over his own crass stupidity. He's the only fruit loop I know that can trip of thirteen and a half mailboxes in one sitting. Okay, now the trick here is to go back and re-read that sentence. Yeah! I KNOW. Thirteen and a half. No joke.

See what you did? You started on my Troy rant. That's what Taylor calls them – I always start going on and on about the boy and I can't ever stop …I even ignore all existing and possible cramps just to keep explaining. It especially annoys my friends back in San Diego, because they can't see how amazing he really is …

…at basketball,

…at singing,

…at kissing.

Just kidding. I don't actually know how good at kissing he really is. Unless you count that one time at Chad's party, where we were playing truth or dare (please don't ask) in which case, I could also list how good of a kisser Chad, Ryan, Troy and Sharpay is …

OH GOD.

PLEASE IGNORE.

THANKS.

My eraser broke! God dammit. Ms. Darbus is going to read this. I could always scribble that part out, but then it would look messy. White out is also a possibility, but the fumes kills brain cells. Maybe I just won't give the paper to her. She's not going to grade it, afterall, and I'm sure she'll get a lot more entertaining papers than mine. So far, all I've done is broadcasted a subliminal advertisement for cookies and pertaining dough-based treats. Yum.

Ah. Brain cramp. I want a cookie.

Can I tell you a story? Well, I'm going to anyways, because you can't talk and tell me to shut up. Once, I had this stuffed bear, right? And I named him Blue – yes, Blue Bear. He was my best friend, we did everything together …teeter totter in the park, swings, coloring, finding numeric functions in the astrophysics field …normal kid stuff. Then one day, Blue got stolen by this huge pit-bull next door. Bravely, I went over the fence and tried to reclaim my comrade.

The pit bull bit my face.

The moral of the story? Don't try to beat a pit bull with a toy spatula.

I'm going to go see what Troy's doing. It's bugging me too much to see him smiling and not knowing what's causing it.

Alrighty, he's just writing the dumb letter to the desk. How could he be so into it anyways?

…What if he said something about me? He could be talking badly about me behind my back, and after I gave him the best space of my paper! He owes me a cookie for this hand cramp. Who knows, with that boy, he could be talking about his butt. Or my butt! Maybe he's saying that my butt has met his chair and they we've had a conversation!

Believe me, it could happen.

Well anyways, as I started to walk oh-so-innocently away from him, he grabbed my ankle and I almost tripped over a desk. I must fall over something everyday, thankfully I never break anything (except maybe Troy's nose for pushing me over the chair in the first place). But, I was feeling generous today and decided to spare him.

Well, blackboard, it's been cool but I've got to run. The bell is almost ready to ring, and I need to get to home economics. We're making cookies, and I think I deserve one!

Love, Gabriella.

P.S. Hmm, looks like Troy has conveniently dropped his chair-note on the floor and left. I picked it up; I'll just read it during home Ec. …

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