Chapter Text
Kelsi never thought she would be asked to prom. Maybe she did at one point, back when she dreamed about princes on horseback, fairytale boys who would put love notes in her locker and ride her away like in that one Taylor Swift song she was always humming in the car. Maybe she wrote in her diary about it, late on Saturday nights hiding under the covers with a flashlight, sketching the dress and the hair and the flowers. But that was kid stuff, before adolescence and the braces and the acne that never goes away no matter how much cream Mom makes her try. That was before East High.
Prom is something buried away in the back of her mind, under finals and college applications, scholarship letters and financial aid and organizing the youth ministry meetings. It’s a musical number in the show, a score that needs to be polished before rehearsals start ramping up. It isn’t a real thing. But then Ryan asks. And Kelsi says yes.
---
It takes Kelsi a year and a half to realize that Ryan and Sharpay Evans are in the same grade as her. It isn’t until she’s sitting behind that cloud of Bombshell perfume, Juicy Couture tracksuits, and blonde curls for the third English class in a row that it clicks. It’s just that the two of them are so visible , always in the spotlight. She assumes confidence like that could only be built up over time. You can’t just waltz into it.
They’re Sharpay and Ryan Evans, the loathed and loved, and they are unavoidable as the desert heat. Especially if, like Kelsi, you are in any way interested in theater. Mrs. Darbus bows in their presence, and even as sophomores the seniors part way for the duo at auditions. It’s something divine in their presence, the way they carry themselves like they’re biding time in the layover between birth and fame. Of course, they never notice Kelsi. They never notice anyone but themselves.
And it isn’t like they’re alone in their avoidance of her. Most people fly past in the halls, and don’t speak aside from asking for homework answers. Maybe that’s just how kids talk to each other, or maybe there’s some secret language she isn’t picking up on. East High is a big jump from her homeschooling group that met every Tuesday and Friday, a big jump from the small group of kids from church on Sunday mornings. When she’d asked to go, her parents took three months and five thesis-length oral presentations to agree. She isn’t going to back down, even if it is overwhelming. It’s enough to get home in one piece most days. Invisible is okay.
And theater is everything she wanted it to be - sure, she has to curtail her musicals to two blonde narcissists who would die before daring to ‘dial it back’, and sure, Mrs. Darbus seems blind to their flagrant disregard of the ‘one vocal warm-up per rehearsal’ rule, but at least Kelsi gets to write. People are singing her songs, and since it’s outside of church for once, her songs don’t have to be about God or Mary and the Wise Men (there are only so many songs you can write about Baby Jesus before you run out of rhymes for ‘little angel boy’). The nights she spends up at her keyboard aren’t just wasted hours anymore.
---
It isn’t until junior year, with Gabriella and Troy, the whole debacle and showdown and ultimate premiere of her first ever full-length musical, that people begin to notice her. And at first it’s terrifying. Troy Bolton knows her name, and asks her how the weekend was, and she has to make up things to say other than ‘church’. Gabriella Montez compliments her scarves and asks where she shops for earrings. Even Chad Danforth drives her home once when her brother gets a flat tire. But after a few months without any other shoe dropping, Kelsi starts to realize the word for what’s happening - all the attention all the time - may be friends.
That was the year things shake up - Zeke joins the Culinary Arts club, Martha heads the dance squad for some reason, and of course, Troy is the lead in Twinkle Towne, a fact that very nearly undoes his social standing completely. It’s only by sheer charisma and the iron-clad support of the Wildcats that he retains the respect of the school. Of course, the shake-up isn’t good news for everyone. Ryan and Sharpay fume from the ensemble line during rehearsals, looking ready to kill anyone that dares to speak to them. It would be funny if Kelsi isn’t one hundred percent sure that they mean it.
---
Summer break is when the invisible barrier between the Evans twins and Kelsi begins to fall. Mom is thrilled when Troy calls and asks if she has a job for the summer - Maybe you’ll finally make enough money to pay rent , Dad jokes, and Kelsi pretends it’s funny. Her older brother asks if Troy is her boyfriend, and Kelsi’s cheeks burn red.
The hours at the country club are long, and the songs are horrible elevator music that burn their way into her brain and fingertips, but the pay is alright, and it’s nice to have enough money to pay for gas in the awful Volvo she inherited from her Aunt Pam. The talent show is its own little brand of chaos, and Kelsi is able to mainly stay away from the whirlpool of drama that always seems to exist around Troy and Gabriella - and of course, Sharpay.
Seeing Ryan and Sharpay split up is something Kelsi never thought she’d see, like the sky turning red or gravity inverting. They both seem weirdly off-center without each other, Sharpay throwing herself all over an awkwardly disinterested Troy, and Ryan sulking around the studio at all hours of the day. It’s one night, after a long session at the club where she receives no tips for a torturously lengthy rendition of “Fabulous Ambiance for Elevators”, and decides to swing back to the theater to burn off some extra energy before the ride home, that she runs into Ryan. He’s sitting on the lip of the stage, staring into the middle distance with the fury and concentration a choreographer only gets when plotting out a musical number in their head.
“I heard about the talent show number,” Kelsi says. It’s true - all anyone was talking about during the break was how disappointed Ryan must be. They’d all heard him in the not-so-soundproof bathroom for the last three weeks practicing. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t think she’d do that to you.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not surprised.” Kelsi is surprised at the bitter edge to Ryan’s voice. “She’s never one to willingly share the spotlight.”
Kelsi scoots up to the edge of the stage, letting her sneakers dangle in the air. He’s less scary up close, less like an unapproachable monarch, and more like a very blond guy who definitely uses a lot of moisturizer.
“I’m sure you guys will work it out,” Kelsi offers, but the words fall flat in the heavy air. Ryan is silent for a moment, and then suddenly on his feet, spinning wildly in a blur of carefully controlled motion. He dances for a few seconds, nothing but the rhythm of his feet and staggered breaths breaking the silence. Then he freezes, mid-gesture, and screws up his face in concentration.
“Kelsi,” he says, like he just remembered she’s there. “Can you pop on the piano for a second?”
---
It turns out that writing with Ryan is just as - if not more - easy than writing alone. For as long as she can remember, songs have been something made at four in the morning, during red-eyed insomnia nights when she can’t do anything but hammer out her messy feelings onto paper. And she’s worried at first, about Ryan hearing all the awkward messy melodies, all the first draft lyrics that don’t rhyme.
But she realizes soon that with him, there’s no judgement. Like, actually, no judgement. He nods his head at her screwed-up chords, offering up little suggestions here and there, and giving a curt little nod when it’s up to both of their standards. And she doesn’t judge his off-beat jazz squares, pacing nervous little circles around centerstage when he’s trying to count out the beats in his head. In less than three hours they have a number choreographed. Then two. Three.
---
The show goes off without a hitch, despite the whole mess (which is what always seems to happen with theater, Kelsi is realizing) and afterwards, Ryan introduces her to his parents. They smile at her with a vapid disinterest, and don’t bother to say anything nice. He apologizes for it with a tight-lipped smile that tells Kelsi he’s used to this by now.
He and Sharpay have more or less made up (and Kelsi is realizing this level of brief falling out must be relatively common) and she congratulates Kelsi on a job well done, with a handshake so strong Kelsi thinks she may never play piano again after. At least she’s genuine.
After the show, she’s walking back to her crappy Volvo, high off post-show euphoria and ready to drive a few miles outside of town to cool off before heading back home. But when she gets to the car, Ryan is leaning against the passenger side door.
“Hey,” she starts, wanting to add something like we already said congrats, did I miss something? But he cuts her off, tipping his electric blue hat towards the setting sun.
“Wanna drive around?” When she looks at him blankly, he sighs like she’s dragging information out of him. “Zeke took my seat in the car, I’m pretty sure. I need a ride back.”
“Oh,” she says. “Sure.”
“We can still drive around first, though,” he follows up, climbing into the passenger seat. “Milkshakes on me? Make it a post-show ritual or something.”
Kelsi isn’t sure what’s happening, but the air in the car feels thick and charged. She hasn’t been alone in a car with a boy. Ever - even when Chad drove her home, Taylor was with him. Her Mom made sure she’d never think to, through lectures and horror stories about girls who give birth at thirteen and never get a nursing degree. But Ryan isn’t like a boy boy, somehow. And he looks so out of place, pleated suede pants rubbing up against the peeling faux leather of the dash, that she can’t feel intimidated by it.
“I’m sorry the car is crappy,” she hears herself saying as they pull out of the parking lot.
“I like it,” Ryan says, and it doesn’t sound like he’s lying. “It smells like apples.”
“Oh, that’s on purpose.” She points to the air freshener hanging from the rearview window. Ryan squints at it like he’s never heard of the concept before. After a few minutes of awkward silence, he starts to fumble around in the glove compartment for her sleeve of CDs.
“Do you have any showtunes-?” he starts to ask, but as he unzips the case, he falls silent.
“Oh, that’s-”
“Okay. Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.”
Ryan fumbles with The Holy Bible: Genesis On Tape for a few seconds before successfully shoving it back and closing the door. Kelsi’s stomach aches now, familiar nerves, and any excitement for a post-show milkshake is fading fast. Ryan chews on his lip, and keeps his eyes trained on the road in front of them.
“I keep most of my music at home,” Kelsi finally supplies, and Ryan nods fervently.
“Yeah, I mean - me too. At least I would, if I was allowed to play my music. In the car. Usually Sharpay picks. You can take a right here.” Kelsi turns down a side road leading towards what she knows to be one of many pretty wealthy sections of Albuquerque.
“I don’t usually tell people I’m religious,” Kelsi says without thinking. Once the words are out of her mouth, they all fall out like an unstoppable flood. “Or I’m not really that religious, but my family is. But I do believe in God - It’s totally okay if you don’t, though, I get it. But I do have to go to church like all the time, or, not have to but you know what I mean. I lead the youth ministry and Bible Study and everything, and… sorry if it’s weird.” Kelsi thinks the awkward silence in the car could kill them both. She can hear the sound of the gravel underneath the car tires as they drive further and further out of town.
“It’s not weird,” Ryan finally says. “It makes sense.”
Kelsi thinks that weird would be better than that.
After a few more minutes of driving, Ryan tells her to take another left, then a right, then a right again. Each turn brings them further and further out of town, and the stars grow bright around them as the streetlights dim and eventually vanish.
“How far away is your house, Ryan?” Kelsi eventually asks. But as she does, lights begin to rise from the distance. An eclectic, disgusting McMansion-y building seemingly rises from the desert dust. “Wow,” Kelsi says on instinct, too honest to be disguised as a compliment.
“Can you pull off here?” Ryan suddenly asks, a few hundred yards away from the driveway.
“Um,” Kelsi starts to protest, but Ryan straightens up in the seat in a way that makes Kelsi pump the brake and pull the car over to the side of the road. Ryan keeps an eye on the house, still far enough away that Kelsi isn’t entirely sure if she can make out figures around the illuminated front yard or if it’s just an illusion. She puts the car into park and sits aimless for a few seconds, trying to see what he’s furiously squinting at.
“Ryan, what’s –” she starts, but then she turns her head and his face is right there, eyes somehow both calculated and panicked, asking a question. And without thinking, her lips are on his, all soft and warm and slippery like he’s been applying chapstick. There’s a hand on her cheek, in her hair, and she doesn’t know how to move for a second, just feels her body react as if on instinct - kissing back, to the best of her ability, hands flailing for some ground to grab onto.
Suddenly her thoughts rush back to her, all at once. Stop it now, she tells herself, before you figure out if you like this or not . Her palms find a flat surface to push against - Ryan’s button-down, and she shoves him away from her with strength she didn’t know she had.
He thuds against the window, snapping back away from her like a button’s been pushed. She sits, panting, eyes wide and unblinking. His face is blank, mouth slightly parted and lips blush pink from her cherry lip gloss. What the hell just happened?
Suddenly, he folds over in the seat like a broken lawn chair, running a hand over his face and snapping back into place so quickly she’s unsure if she hallucinated it.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters, and his voice is distant, like he’s trying to reach her from underwater. “I didn’t mean to - I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s okay,” she says, but what she means to say is Why did you? Why did I let you? Is that what it’s supposed to feel like?
Her eyes finally focus, and he’s staring out at the faraway front lawn again, like a hawk tracking prey. She can’t even tell what he could be looking for.
“Ryan-” she starts, voice shaky and thin, full of things she’s about to admit like that was my first kiss and did it feel normal to you and why did you do that why did I let you, but all of a sudden he’s unlocked the car door, halfway out into the dry heat of the night. He pops his head back in, and his blue eyes are wild, rimmed with a red she hadn’t noticed on the drive.
“Whatever you hear about me, it’s not true.”
By the time she blinks, he’s halfway to the house.
She never does find out who he was looking at.
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