A/N: Hello, wonderful world of screwed-up High School Musical fanfiction lovers! I feel no urge to come up with witty remarks, so read, review, && critize, mkay?
Rating: T, for lots o' language, homophobic discrimination, and a teeny tiny, barely-there bit of slash-y goodness.
Disclaimer: If I did own Disney, HSM, or it's characters, we would all live in a much different world. -devious smirk-
KEY: (blahblah) Troy's actual thoughts.
Definition of a Hypocrite
I love it how they think I'm perfect. No, I honestly do. I get a laugh out of it every so often. Perfect…nobody's perfect. Only God is perfect. I am not God, no matter what my spazzy fan club of obsessive teenage girls say.
I'm simply me. Troy Alexander Bolton. Other names I possibly (usually unknowingly) go by are:
The Hottie Buperbomb
Troy the Basketball Boy
Freaky Callback Boy
Troyboy (as Gabriella so…loving calls me)
And (my personal favorite) Sex God.
But I prefer Troy, thank you very much. If it hasn't gotten through your thick skills yet (oh, see how insulting and judgmental I can be?), I am NOT perfect.
I actually hate basketball.
I act like singing is just as important as basketball, but if I hate basketball then obviously singing isn't high on my list either.
The worst, possibly biggest imperfection I have, though, is that I really, really can't stand my girlfriend. Yeah.
"Hey Troy!" Her sweet, bubbly voice ripped me from my thoughts.
I looked up from writing my strange ideas in my English journal (stupid journal) to meet my girlfriend, Gabriella Montez's warm brown eyes, and an innocent smile on her soft lips.
"Class is over, silly." She giggled (that annoying, consistent giggle all girls have).
"Oh, right." I blinked and closed the flimsy notebook of a journal, pushing it deep into my brown messenger bag.
As I stood up, she rose to her tip-toes and shyly put her lips against mine, for a whole two nanoseconds (mentally rolling my eyes).
No one but me at this school knew innocence was merely her public persona. She's actually a very…er, active person with me. She, uh, has handcuffs in her room.
She told me once that those handcuffs were a gift from her ex boyfriend in Oregon. He gave them to her because; quote, 'he knew how much I liked them,' unquote. (Now you see why I call her a whore?)
Anyways, we walked out of class hand in hand (because as the 'cutest couple in school', if we weren't holding hands, the slutty bitches –AKA student body – automatically freaked because they ASSumed we were fighting; that was unacceptable to them) per usual.
Chad Danforth and (his gay harpies) the rest of the basketball team made their way over to us as we entered the busy cafeteria.
"Troy!" He exclaimed, clutching his basketball (hehe) under his right arm (he named that basketball Chrissy. Fag.). He slapped me on the shoulder.
("Pom-pom!") "Chad, dudes." I nodded at my (so-called) best friend and (twinkle-toed) team.
You want to know another thing I hate? Chad Richard Danforth (the third)'s fucking hair. It's even more gay than his fucking name! Stupid fucking gravity-defying, curly, gay-ass hair.
(I know I said 'fucking' three times while talking about Chad…NO I'm not thinking about fucking Chad Danforth! Fuckers…)
"You up for a lunch practice or you going to go be whipped by Miss Montez?" Jason, one of the (gay harpies) teammates, asked me. They all instantly started laughing and I barely managed not to look frightened.
Gabriella has whipped me before…
(I'm incredibly afraid of that girl.)
"I think I'm just going to eat lunch today, guys." I explained (they just wanted to watch sweat glisten on my beautiful body, I know it). I glanced down at my girlfriend to see a devious smirk on her lips, and I knew it was because of the whipping comment. I forced back a shiver of fear.
"Right, right." Another Wildcat, Chuckie, snickered.
"No sex!" Chad shouted obnoxiously and hit my arm, rather flamboyantly.
("I should say the same to you.") "Later." I said simply, and the (fairy-faggots) team dispersed.
Gabriella led me over to our usual table, a highly diverse table ever since (fucking) callbacks a few months ago. Of course us high school sweethearts were the cause of all this.
People like Taylor McKessie, Kelsie Nielsen, and the Evan's twins were there (Evans twins…ugh).
Sharpay and Ryan Evans, the queen and king of Dramaland, were back in their rightful places as (Bitch and Bastard) rulers of the school. I guess we should get along pretty well, seeing as I am God of East High.
Sharpay (Bitch) still hates Gabriella and me for beating her and her brother out of the leads of the last winter musical. Well, she hates Gabi (she tries hooking up with me in random empty places on campus on a daily basis Bitch.). (I like it.)
"Hey guys." Her voice was syrupy-sweet (scheming hoe). Did I mention she acts like we're her best friends? She even ignores Ryan around us. Which is a big deal because (they have wild, twincesty sex together – ever see them dance?) he's her twin brother.
Ryan Evans…he's something (gay) to talk about. With his out-there (gay) clothing, massive assortment of (gay) shiny hats, and incredibly (gay) amazing hip movements (I mean…gay!). He's the most obvious gay dude around; especially since his clothes are sometimes shinier than Sharpay's (together they are an extremely blinding twosome of twincest and gayness).
I hate that Ryan Evans.
After a while of pointless chatting (and Gabriella trying to feel me up under the table) Ryan excused himself.
"I have some Chemistry to get done before next period." He stood as he spoke. I smirked knowingly down at my tray of unidentified school food. That boy definitely wasn't going to do homework (more like work on a homo, if you catch my drift). He was going to the auditorium to meet (a lucky) someone (kidding! I wouldn't know because I'm not gay!!! Ah fuck you.)(That was not an offer) and probably continue on to certain… (homosexual) things.
But again, I wouldn't know (because I'm. Not. Gay.).
Since I was the only guy at the table, I waited for a few minutes before telling the (bitch-clan) girls that I had to go find the kid who did my Geometry homework.
(Lie, lie, lie.)
Instead, I wandered through the unusually empty hallways, just thinking about my extremely screwed up, completely anti-Disney life.
My girlfriend was (a fake-) innocent, and completely (a whore) in love with me. Too bad I (hate her) can't really say I feel the same (at all).
Chad was (fucking gay) my best friend (the asshole…), even though I despised his hair (sometimes I wonder if he was adopted and his real mother was a big, black poodle).
Don't even get me started on the basketball team again. Few words can describe them (here's a try: fags, gay-rods, and they're all in love with me).
I already explained about the (fucking) Evans twins.
So yeah, you agree, right? I have a very distorted world I live in, yes I do.
I walked into the auditorium (innocently!) and assumed it was (even though I knew it wasn't) empty.
I looked around, trying to let my eyes adjust to the dim lighting.
"Hey, homophobic ass." A familiar voice echoed through the big empty space. I smiled.
"Drama fag." I replied (oh-so-politely), walking towards Ryan, who was sitting on the edge of the high stage.
(I swear coming in here was an accident! Just because I happened to know the youngest Evans was in here, alone, waiting for…someone.)
"You're just jealous of my hips, fucker." He snapped, but was grinning.
"That an offer?"
(I'm not gay. I'm not! I hate gay people. Stop smiling! Fuck you, reader…)
I got over to him and grabbed his ankles, pulling him off the stage. He yelped, arms flailing helplessly as he fell. I hooked my arm under his before is face hit the ground and helped him stand straight (underlying meaning…?).
"I fucking hate you, Bolton!" He screeched, getting free of my grasp. I simply laughed (gay people are GAY! Therefore, I'm not gay, so stop thinking it).
"You love to fuck me." I said in a low voice. Ryan punched me in the chest, catching me off guard. I let out an 'oof', always surprised at how strong he was.
I rubbed my slightly aching sternum, where he had hit me. "Jesus, Ryan." I tried to punch him back, but he caught my fist and pushed my arm away (for a gay guy, Ryan's pretty strong). I blinked as he firmly gripped my wrist.
Before I could get any words from my slightly ajar mouth, the blonde roughly grabbed the collar of my shirt; forcefully pressing his warm mouth against mine (told you he was gay).
I'm a (fucking) hypocrite, and damn proud of it.
Btw, I'm not homophobic in the slightest, but I had to make Troy cruel so it'd show what a hyporcrite he was, mkay? Review, now. Critique me, please? I'm begging you!