September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 12:04 AM.

Okay, so I've always had this problem with holding all of my feelings inside until they bubble over, just like Chad Danforth's chemistry labs. No, wait. I lied. Chad's projects usually explode, not bubble over. But, well, I'm sure you get the point. Danforth's just some jock that doesn't know I exist, so whatever. Oh, I'm Gabriella, by the way. Gabriella Montez. So, anyway . . . Moving on.

The reason I bought this diary was not because it had a cute matching pen (which broke after I tried to pull the top off when it was the kind that twisted) or because it was red, my favorite color. No, I bought it so I'd have something to write my emotions down on, to have someone (even if that someone is an inanimate object) to explain my problems to. And believe me; I have a lot of problems.

Take this afternoon, for example. I was eating lunch with my friends in East High's cafeteria. I had my usual: A turkey sandwich with no mustard, a diet coke, and one of those really good chocolate-chip cookies that cries out to you, "Buy me and my chocolaty goodness!" I had finished eating and announced to my friends, Taylor McKessie, Kelsi Nielsen, and a few other Scholastic decathlon members, that I was going to go use the restroom. And, well, I'm not going to explain to you what I did in the bathroom because, c'mon, it's obvious. So, anyway, I returned to the cafeteria and sat down at the table. But there was a problem. Yes, this is the problem I mentioned above.

When I looked up, I did not see the faces of my friends. No, I was greeted with the faces of the basketball team, each boy gaping at me like I had a third arm protruding from my forehead, or something. Great, right? Just grand. Not only did I blush beet red, but I mumbled something incoherently and fled from the table. As if the basketball team doesn't think I'm a geek already. Wait, scratch that. They don't even acknowledge me most of the time. And to be perfectly honest with myself, I can kind of understand why.

You see, East high is practically run by the Basketball team and their varsity captain, Troy Bolton. And, to give you an insight to what people think of Troy, here's a conversation I hear almost every single day from the cheerleaders:

Cheerleader number one C1

Cheerleader number two C2

C1: "Oh, my God, Becky! You will never, ever guess what happened today."

C2: "Like, what happened, Sharon?"

C1: "Troy looked at me in Homeroom. Actually glanced at me with his gorgeous, blue eyes!"

C2: (Hyperventilating) "No, way. No, way! You are soooo lucky, Sharon! He is like, the definition of hot!"

C1: "I know. And if this keeps up, maybe next week he'll ask to borrow my pencil!"

Okay, so maybe I exaggerated a little. But still. You get the fact that Troy is east High's man-god. And when you're a god, you only notice important people. So for a basketball player, an important person is the girl with the biggest breasts and shortest skirt. Me on the other hand, well, lets just say I'm not considered important to the Basketball team. Specifically it's captain. I don't slather my face with make-up every morning, I wear jeans more often then skimpy skirts, and I spend most of my time studying. This also means I have to wear my reading glasses most of the time, because I'm always reading. I'm not exactly the epiphany of a dork; I'm just what one would call a wallflower.

Not that I mind, though. I'd much rather go unnoticed by the so called 'popular' crowd than be a slut. Because even though Troy is inhumanly good-looking, if I have to be something I don't want to be, he's not worth it. Not that I like him, or anything. And so, I hereby make a promise to always stay true to myself. No matter what.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 12:56 AM.

Even if Troy's eyes are the bluest I have ever seen.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 1:13 AM.

And his golden hair, too.

September 24, 2007. My bedroom, 1:20 AM.

Just went back and re-read my last two entries. I must be tired, or something. Troy Bolton is an egotistical idiot who ignores everyone except the popular crowd. I do not like him at all. Not even a smidge.

Okay, I will admit that he is hot. That is the only respect in which I am like the cheerleaders.

But he's still a jerk!

September 25, 2007. Homeroom, 8:15 AM.

Well, I somehow managed to drag myself out of bed once again this morning. At least it's Friday, though. I'll have the entire weekend to just lie in bed and watch movies with Taylor. Okay, fine, we'll probably do homework. I'm sorry that I'm such a grade-obsessed freak. Oh, look. Troy and Chad just walked in. Hmm, they just sat down two seats in front of me. Great, now Chad's hair will block my view of the board. And why does he always have a basketball with him? Does he suffer some sort of weird shock syndrome when he doesn't hold it in his grubby paws?

Oh, Taylor just walked in. Wait. Did that just happen? Oh, my gosh! It did, it totally did! At least, I think it did. I'm not exactly skilled in the flirting department, not having had anyone flirt with me before, but if I'm not mistaken, Danforth just checked Taylor out!

Ha, she didn't even notice. She just came up, sat down next to me and went, "Morning, Gabriella."

'Morning, Gabriella?' That's not what you say when a basketball player checks you out. I mean, I completely saw Chad's eyes roam up and down her body, almost like he was . . . Memorizing her curves, or something. Okay, that came out perverted. But, really. If Chad Danforth checks you out and even grins a little afterward, I'm sure the said person would at least shriek with happiness. But not Taylor. No, no, no.

She just asked me why I had a shocked expression on my face. Pshh, if only she knew. She's taking all her school supplies out right now, without a clue that Chad is still kind of looking at her. Am I missing something, here? I mean, is he only looking at her because she has food on her face, or something?

Okay, I just glanced at her and noticed nothing out of the ordinary. On the contrary, she looks pretty today. Jeeze. I hope Taylor won't up and ditch me for Chad. She will not be converted to the dark side!

Notes: English

Depending on the type of object they take, verbs may be transitive, intransitive, or linking.

The meaning of a transitive verb is incomplete without a direct object, as in the following examples:


The shelf holds.


The shelf holds three books and a vase of flowers.

September 25, 2007. History Class, 11:23 AM.

Maybe something happened yesterday that caused Chad to become mentally ill. Maybe he's just a very sick person and does not realize what he's doing, or more specifically, who he's checking out. I should give him some flowers, or whatever. Even if he won't know who the heck Gabriella Montez is. But hey, it's the thought that counts.

Yippee! Mr. Lawrence, the history teacher, is handing back the tests we took last week. Ooh, I didn't do that bad. A ninety-one is still an 'a', right? I mean, it may be low, but it's still good. Am I right? Well, the bell just rang. Time for my sandwich.

September 25, 2007. Cafeteria Table, 12:01 PM.

Okay. That's all I have to say right now. Just . . . Okay. I was just stepping out of the door when Mr. Lawrence called, "Miss Montez, Mr. Bolton? Please stay behind, I need a quick word.

At first I was like, oh, great. What is it that I did? He's going to tell me I'm failing out of his class, isn't he. He's going to tell me that my ninety-one wasn't good enough for him. But he didn't.

Troy and I just kind of turned back around, and, because Troy was already out the door, he had to walk past me to get back inside. I got a whiff of his famous cologne, which, for some reason, seemed to calm my nerves. But, anyway. We stood in front of Mr. Lawrence's desk and he said, "Mr. Bolton, we need to discuss your current grade."

Whoa. So maybe it wasn't my grade that was in jeopardy, but rather Troy's. Talk about a reverse in the situation.

"You're border-line'd'," Mr. Lawrence continued. I couldn't help but wonder why I was standing in there, listening to Troy's bad news. "And, because I've seen you have all 'a's in your other classes, I've decided that you need a tutor."

Troy just kind of stood there nodding. I don't think he even noticed me until Mr. Lawrence went, "Miss Montez, here, has the highest grade-point average in the class. She will be your tutor until I see an improvement."

Yeah . . . I know, right? I did not see that coming, at all. Troy turned to me with a raised eyebrow. I could tell it was probably a shock to him that I had a name.

"Uh," Troy said. "Is that really necessary?"

Wow, thanks, Bolton. I know I'm a geek, but really.

"You and Miss Montez will meet everyday after school for an hour and a half to study," Mr. Lawrence stated, ignoring troy's previous comment completely.

Troy looked flabbergasted. "But, sir! What about basketball practice?"

"Then afterwards."

Here's where I finally said something. I knew for a fact that Troy's basketball practice went from 2:30 to 4:30, and my bus home left at 3:00 o'clock.

"Um," I said quietly. "My bus -- "

But apparently Mr. Lawrence had better things to do than to stick around and listen to the wallflower with the best grade in his class. "I'll be checking up on you two," he said, interrupting me before leaving the classroom.

"Uh," I started, gazing at the space where Mr. Lawrence had sat only two minutes before. "I guess I can tutor you after your practice ends."

Troy just kind of looked at me with his blue eyes. I have to say it was very uncomfortable. Then he said, "Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Um, who's the person who's giving up their ride home to wait TWO hours to tutor his ungrateful butt? Me, that's who!

"Okay, so I'll just . . . Meet you in the library at 4:45. Does that give you enough time to, I don't know, change and gather your stuff?" I am way to nice. What is wrong with me?

He nodded again, and left me standing in the classroom like an idiot. Why do I always get stuck in these situations, anyway? It's like I'm just this big magnet that attracts trouble. I need to demagnetize myself. I need to un-charge my ions.

September 25, 2007. My bedroom, 9:12 PM.

I cannot even begin to describe how tired I am right now. This has been like, the longest day in history. Okay, maybe not. But it certainly felt like it was.

I was at the Library about an hour early. Partly because I had nothing better to do and partly because I wanted to figure out what I was going to teach Troy for the next hour and a half.

Being the dork that I am, I didn't; even notice how fats the time flew by until I saw Troy heading over to the table I occupied. His hair was still damp from the shower he had taken recently, and he, like Chad always did, was carrying a basketball.

"Erm," I said awkwardly as he sat down in the chair the way all the jocks do: with the chair flipped around backwards and the back of the seat between his legs. "Hi."

When Troy didn't say anything, I passed him hand-written quiz that I had carefully been concocting for the past hour or so. "I want you to take this quiz so that I can figure out your weaknesses and what we need to work on," I continued.

He just looked at me like I was stupid, or something. "I don't have a pencil," he said simply.

Trust Troy to have a basketball with him and not the means to write with when he went to a tutoring session. I tried not to laugh at him, and shielded my face by leaning over to pull my pencil case out of my school bag. After handing him my mechanical pencil and an eraser, I beckoned for him to begin the test.

He moved steadily through the questions for the next fifteen minutes. I was just thinking, 'This isn't so bad.' when I noticed Troy was silently flirting with a cheerleader a few tables over.

First of all, why there was a cheerleader in the library is beyond me. Second of all, WHY DOES HE HAVE TO MAKE THINGS SO DIFGFICULT?

"Um, Troy?" I asked hesitantly. "Maybe you'd do better in History if you paid more attention to the material and less attention to girls."

His head snapped back to me, and he sort of glared. Ha, like it was my fault he was failing history class.

"Maybe if you stopped paying so much attention to your studies, you'd have friends." he said, rather cruelly in my opinion.

I mean, I have friends. Lots of friends, in fact. This is exactly what I told him, too.

"Montez," Troy said, and I was surprised he remembered my name. "I meant friends who are guys. You know, like a boyfriend?"

At this I blushed. Why I did, I have no idea. Just because I haven't had a boyfriend yet doesn't mean I never will. Besides, most relationships that start in high school don't even last, so what's the point?

"Well, maybe I want a long term relationship and not some random make-out like you always have."

Where that came form, I have no clue. I was actually talking back to Troy Bolton. And to be honest, a part of me liked it.

Troy frowned and made a weird noise. "You've got some nerve, nerd."

The fact that he called me a nerd to my face really got to me. I can stand a person ignoring me, but insulting is a completely different concept. And here I was, trying to help him improve his history grade without any reward for myself.

"I'm the nerd who's helping you, Bolton," I replied just as strongly as he had. "And if you're not going to pay attention to what I have to teach, then maybe we'll have to find some other place to go. A place where nothing will distract you."

Troy huffed, and crossed his arms. For some reason I noticed how cute he looked with his hair falling into his narrowed eyes. I really am a freak.

"Fine, then. Next time we'll go to my house."

Go to Troy Bolton's house? No that was interesting. Just about everyone except for the decathlon team and I has been to Troy's house at least once before on account of all the parties he was always throwing. I'm talking about those parties where people get drunk, sleep with each other, and blah, blah, blah.

"Whatever it takes to get you focused," I finally said.

For the remainder of the tutoring, Troy just sat and finished his test while I kept a close eye on him. When he finally finished, the time period was up.

"Okay," I said, as I tucked his finished quiz into a folder. "I'll just meet you at your house tomorrow, then."

Troy shrugged, not even bothering to look me in the eye. "Whatever, Montez. Later."

And with that he had left me for the second time that day to stand by myself. Why I still think he's hot . . I don't know.