"My Best Friend's Hot!" copyright © CJ.xox.Dancerella and zacharyteflonforpresident. July 12th 2008.

This is a derivate piece of fiction featuring characters copyrighted and trademarked by Disney Enterprises Inc. It is based upon High School Musical, copyright 2006 by Walt Disney Enterprises Inc., all rights reserved; and High School Musical 2, copyright 2007 by Walt Disney Enterprises Inc., all rights reserved. The authors are not connected with nor is this work authorised by Walt Disney Enterprises Inc., or any other motion picture studios. This work is solely intended for posting on Fanfiction, for the benefit and enjoyment of its intended audience. No commercial or financial benefit accrues or is intended to accrue to the author as a result of said posting. Any unauthorised copying or redistribution of this work might subject the party responsible for such unauthorized copying or redistribution to legal action by the owners of the aforementioned copyrights and trademarks.

TITLE: My Best Friend's Hot!

AUTHOR: Jessa (zacharyteflonforpresident) and Kylie (nickname Charli...CJ.xox.Dancerella)


FEEDBACK: Go ahead, make us squee!

DISCLAIMER: Troy, Gabriella and East High do not belong to us. We know that, you know that and we hope Disney knows that too so we don't get sued for all our non-money...

PAIRING/CHARACTERS: Troy, Gabriella and the usual Wildcat gang.

SUMMARY: Life at university is confusing enough when you're not madly in love with your best friend. For Troy and Gabi, it's doubly frustrating. Will they finally confess their feelings before things get even more complicated?

Yo, yo, yo! Kylie (aka Charli...nickname, long story) and Jessa IN DA HOOOOUSE! In light of all the HSM3-y goodness that has been floating around recently, we are extremely excited, hyper and all 'round squeey...and would like to officially welcome you to the PREMIERE of our BRAND NEW STORY! We have had a blast writing it so far, and hope that you will enjoy reading it as much as we have enjoyed spending hours (and a lot of laughs) over the past couple of months plotting it out and writing it! Huge thanks to our awesome beta, advisor and all 'round awesome one Holly (claps, cheers, whoops) for her words of wisdom on this one. This PREMIERE CHAPTER goes out to you, girl!

JEEESSAAA!! GIMME BACK MY KEYBOARD!! Ok, ok...Jess wants a turn...Ahem...

Holla to everyone who has faved Kylie as an author! As I'm sure you've realized by now, my partner in Troyella-like crime and I have decided to piece together a co-write. We're extremely and pathetically excited to finally be posting it here on after months and months (okay, more like two months) of planning and slaving over our keyboards. With this and all the HSM3 stuff that's surfaced as of late, our heads just might explode from the fangirly joy! Until that happens, we hope you enjoy the fic as much as we enjoy writing it! Love, Jessa.

Ok, so without further ado...this is Kylie and Jessa, signing off and leaving you with the first chapter of what we hope will become one of your new favourite fics :p

Peace, love and all that jazz,

Team KJ!

Chapter One: Homicidal Heels

Do you know what it's like to want someone so much that you're an inch away from banging your head on the wall just so you can stop thinking about them? When - somewhere in the back of your mind - you're always wondering where they are, what they're doing and whether or not they're thinking about you. That was the story of my life, and had been every day since junior year of high school. Three years of nothing but Troy Bolton - all day, every day. It was enough to drive anyone mental. And yet it was impossible to stop. He was like some crazy, blue-eyed drug. A drug that I had found myself completely and utterly addicted to.

Too bad he had no idea just how pathetic I was.

You see, Troy and I were just friends. Okay. We were best friends. Full out, no holds barred, tell-each-other-everything, together 24/7, best friends. So you can see why my situation was problematic. I was around him all the time but I could never tell him how I felt. He probably would've freaked out and never have wanted to speak to his secret stalker again and he was just way too important to me for that kind of risk-taking.

And so there I was, stuck in limbo - in his life but never in the way I wanted to be. Don't get me wrong - being his friend was amazing, but every time he laughed, whenever he touched me, I got butterflies. I wanted to be just that little bit closer to him. I ached to hold his hand and snicker to myself about how jealous all the girls in my science lab were when he walked me to class and kissed me goodbye.

I think I loved him from the moment I saw him, which in retrospect sounds hideously clichéd, but there's no other way to describe that feeling that swallowed me whole when he started singing karaoke that New Years Eve. (Yup, we met through karaoke. It's like some messed up fairytale, minus the happy ending.) Suddenly, I wasn't afraid anymore. Just knowing that he was next to me, even though I didn't know his name, I felt as though I could do anything. The feeling only grew stronger when I actually got to know him.

There are a couple of things you should know about Troy Bolton so you can understand how someone could obsess over him so much - and trust me; I'm not the only one who has ever done so. Firstly, he's incredibly good looking. I mean, the kind of good looking you spot in the mall that causes you to smack into store shelving and trip over small children because you can't tear your eyes away. Just a mental image of his long, muscular body, tanned skin, sexy crooked smile and clear blue eyes makes a girl weak in the knees. And by "a girl", I meant to say "me".

Secondly, and this is the cherry on top of being one of the hottest guys I'd ever laid eyes on, he is a complete sweetheart. So nice it made you consider sacrificing your weekends to help take care of impoverished orphans (which I kind of already did anyways) so you didn't seem like a total jerk in comparison. I know; I didn't think the two could co-exist either, but apparently somebody somewhere broke a few rules when they created Troy. He always knew what to say to cheer someone up, he didn't judge people, and he had a habit of making me laugh so hard that I turned purple (slightly counter-productive in the wanting him to find me attractive scenario). I could literally go on all day.

Troy Bolton: hot, funny, smart, nice. It just wasn't fair to the rest of the guys in the world. Are you starting to get why I run endlessly on about him? I thought so.

I started to panic when we began university because I realized just how many girls there were there. Most of them were older, more mature, more experienced and more glamorous that Troy's geeky best friend. No wonder he didn't look twice at me in my blue jeans and girly shirts when there were hundreds of tall blondes in high heeled boots and sophisticated black-framed glasses walking around campus. I told myself that they'd never read any of the books that they were lugging around and it helped with the sinking feeling... for a few seconds. After that, being that I was my own worst enemy, I felt bad for making assumptions.

So far - thank God! - none of those girls had caught my best friend's eye. I had no idea what I was going to do when that day came. Luckily for me, Sharpay and Taylor had enough ideas for five situations just like mine. That night, according to my two supposed best friends, I would be stepping up my game. With their fashion and dating expertise at my disposal, how could I lose? Being Gabriella Montez, obviously I found a way.

"He won't be able to tear his eyes away from you tonight," Taylor assured me as she slowly slid a straightener through my long dark hair. The three of us were in my new dorm room, preparing ourselves for a night out to celebrate the fact that a gruelling day moving our belongings back to campus was over. Soon all of us would be starting our second year of university and the time for fun and games would be over for another semester of hardcore studying.

Fairly eager to steer the topic away from a certain drop dead gorgeous, blue eyed best friend of mine, I completely ignored that statement.

"Danielle seems nice," I commented instead, referring to Taylor's new roommate, who we had met earlier that morning.

"Yeah she does," Taylor replied. "Mia seems like a pretty cool chick too, Shar."

"Oh please," Sharpay huffed. "With a name that means 'mine'...she'll be a selfish cow for sure."

Taylor and I exchanged a smirk. After having the luxury of her own room in our first year of college, this year she was going to be sharing for the first time. And she was NOT impressed. After growing up with just Ryan to boss around, the thought of having to cohabitate - to cooperate - with someone else...she wasn't taking it well.

"I wonder what your new roomie will be like, Gabs," Taylor wondered as she suffocated me with hairspray. The girl I was to be sharing with this year had not yet arrived on campus – apparently her flight from LA had been delayed, and she would be making her appearance later that night.

I groaned. "Knowing my luck, she'll be some hairy chick named Flavia who never learned the pros of basic hygiene."

Taylor laughed and Sharpay scoffed at my comment, as she got to work on my makeup. No words needed to be exchanged to remind me of the insanity that called herself my roommate last year. Her name was Llewellyn – Lulu for short. She was six foot three, with fuzzy red hair that never failed to look like she had been dragged through a hedge backwards, and a voice that sounded like she had swallowed a cheese grater. She didn't believe in waxing or shaving, thought that wearing copious amounts of bright blue eye shadow was actually attractive, and hung her underwear over the backs of all the chairs in our room to dry... on the rare occasion she actually washed it, that was.

"Ouch! Gently please, Shar!" I was snapped from my horrific nostalgia trip when the blonde, over stimulated by the music blaring from my stereo, the tub of ice cream we'd polished off and the excitement of a 'long overdue' makeover, accidently jabbed me in the eye with a mascara wand. She barely batted an eyelid, continuing work on her self-proclaimed masterpiece, more commonly known as my face.

"Beauty is pain, darling," she flippantly offered.

There really was no arguing with the girl, especially on the subject of glamour, so I settled for some inaudible grumbling as I watched Taylor root through my meticulously organized closet, tossing garments onto my bed every so often. In all honesty, I didn't understand how girls could go through all this crap every time they went out somewhere. It was an opinion that I didn't dare voice aloud because it would surely insight more, less accidental, mascara-related injuries.

"Seriously, Gabs," Taylor sighed while she poked through the pile she had made next to me. "Do you own anything that isn't pastel colored or frilly? We're going for sexy here."

"In case you haven't noticed, Tay. I don't really do sexy," I retorted defensively. If it weren't for my sad Troy obsession, I wouldn't have let her anywhere near my wardrobe. I made a mental note to mention my sacrifice to him right after he swept me off my feet, and just before we lived happily ever after.

Sharpay chose that point to interject, taking a step back as she did so to admire her handiwork. A devilish smirk blossomed on her lips; it was incredibly frightening.

"Correction, dollface - you didn't do sexy... until now."

Taylor slipped into position next to her, a similar expression - though slightly less scary - on her face.

"Well done, Shar," she said. A low five was given to commend the blonde for her efforts. "Now all we need is the perfect outfit to bring that blue-eyed hunk of man to his knees."

Twenty minutes and twelve clothing changes later, the pair of them were finally satisfied. I felt like a life-sized Barbie, strapped into a tiny black dress that Taylor, who anticipated an outfit emergency, had brought along. It warmed my heart to learn of her faith in my fashion sense.

The dress was fairly simple - satin with a sweetheart neckline and halter straps, the hemline hitting mid-thigh. The only problem was how snugly it fit me because a) I had always been highly uncomfortable with flaunting myself so blatantly and b) it made simple tasks like walking and sitting a million times more difficult.

"Daaamn girl," Taylor drawled, awestruck, when I teetered out of the bathroom in not only the dress but also ridiculous four inch heels that further hindered my movement, making me feel somewhat like a retarded flamingo. "Where have you been hiding those curves!?"

"In clothing fit for a twelve year old," Sharpay replied before I could open my mouth. I chose to ignore her, instead turning to finally catch the full effect of my makeover in the mirror. The person staring back at me was barely recognizable. With tousled curls and smoky eye make-up, I looked like a full on sex kitten, prepared for a night on the prowl.

"Whoa," I breathed. I could see the girls exchange knowing looks in the mirror before they both lunged, hugging me tightly from behind.

Taylor squealed loudly, a tad too close to my ear. "You're gonna knock him dead!"


"Fuck, fuck, fuck," I cursed as I rummaged through my wardrobe. It was like that stupid cupboard was suddenly void of anything that made me look remotely decent. Why couldn't I have realised the week before that I owned nothing besides basketball shorts and training gear? Why was it always at the most inopportune times – like when I had approximately seventeen minutes to make myself look at least semi-presentable and get my arse to The Victory, where us guys were supposed to meeting the girls for a night of hard partying – that revelation's such as these chose to present themselves?

"Freaking Murphy's Law," I grumbled to myself as I pulled a pair of stone-wash dark denim jeans off the nearest hanger. They were clean. At that moment in time, I really couldn't ask for much more.

Digging deeper into the closet, I came across two button-down dress shirts.

"Great," I sighed. First I had nothing to wear and now I had to try and decide between the blue or the white.







Gabriella was always telling me I looked good in blue.

I went with the blue.

Aaahh, Gabriella Montez. My Ella. Even the mere thought of her name sent a tingle down my spine. I'm pretty sure I loved her from the moment I met her at that Ski Lodge in junior year. I gave up trying to convince myself otherwise a long time ago. I was just driving myself insane... even more insane than I went every time she was near me and all I could think about is how much I wanted to kiss her right on the lips... Mmm, those luscious, pi...

Wait, where were we?

Oh, right. My relationship with Gabriella. I was crazy about the girl – plain and simple. What sucked was that she had absolutely no idea how I felt. I couldn't tell her – our friendship meant the world to me and I just couldn't put that on the line.

If I lost Ella, I'd have been losing my everything.

Oh man, I was sooo whipped. And she wasn't even my girlfriend.

God help me.

My life was like a really bad episode of The Bold and the Beautiful.

And before you tell me every episode of The Bold and the Beautiful is bad, I know. That's the point.

Anyway, back to the situation at hand. I heard footsteps outside my room before the door opened and Chad appeared, just as I was hurriedly raking some product through my hair.

"Hey man!" he grinned, clapping me on the back so hard that I stumbled forward, my forehead only a hairs breath away from smacking against the mirror. How I had known Chad since pre-school and managed to not murder him with my bare hands was beyond me. "Oooh," he commented with a smirk. That wasn't a good sign... I could have guessed what was coming next. "You're looking devilishly handsome tonight, my friend. Trying to impress a certain... curly haired brunette are we?"

"Chad, do you even know what 'devilishly' means?" I mocked.

Chad faked hurt. "You cut me deep, man. You cut me real deep. Here I am, trying to compliment my dearest friend in the entire world on his devilish handsomeness... and all you do is tear me down. I'm hurt. I bet you don't insult Ella like that..."

I glared at him. I was the only one allowed to call her Ella. Chad sighed. "Ok, ok, enough with the Gabriella mentions – I get it. You're crazy in love with the girl, but no one can say it aloud. God forbid the world's worst-kept-secret is confirmed!"

I grabbed my wallet and cell phone and glanced quickly in the mirror before heading towards the door. "We're going to be late," I said simply, Chad rolling his eyes as he trudged after me.

Trouble was, he had hit the nail right on the head – the guys all knew how I felt about Ella. Apparently it was glaringly obvious to everyone except her. But if any of them mentioned it out loud... well, let's just say I made sure they were left with no doubt that if they ever brought it up again, they would not be fathering children in their lifetime.

Seemed I wasn't very convincing as a bully, though, because they mocked me about my little 'crush' every opportunity they had.

Their jokes seemed to go right over Gabriella's head, though, and her friendship with me remained as just that – a friendship. Sure, it was the best friendship I could ever have asked for – we were closer than I had ever been to anyone in my entire life, and could tell each other anything – but I wanted it to be so much more. Sadly, I knew that could never happen. Some guy would be very lucky to have her one day.

But even though the thought of someone else's arms being around MY Ella made me feel violently ill – even worse than the time Chad and I ate some left over Quesadilla's we found in his refrigerator.

Apparently it's not a good idea to reheat sausage, cheese and mushroom after it has been sitting in the fridge for a week... Who would've thought?

Dodgy Quesadilla's aside – I was so nervous as Chad and I headed over to pick up Zeke. I knew deep down that my nerves were Gabriella related, but I couldn't understand why they were so apparent that night. How was that night out going to be any different from any of the other hundred times a day I spoke to, looked at or thought about her?

Her gorgeous chocolate curls, her beautiful big brown eyes, her perfect figu...

Yeah, ok, I know – I was in serious trouble.


"Are you sure this is a good idea?" I asked the girls as we walked - or in my case were practically carried - up to the club doors. It was crawling with people intent on a night of drinking and dancing.

Sharpay gave me the evil eye. "Ask us that one more time and you'll be spending the night at the hospital while I hook Troy up with someone else," she muttered. My stomach lurched dangerously at the thought of Troy with another girl.

"Do you really think he'd go for someone else?" I demanded, panicking. "Oh God, he doesn't like me! Why would you guys lie to me like that!?" Taylor grabbed my shoulders, steadying me and putting a hasty halt to my rant.

"Chill, girl. He likes you. More than likes! So quit freaking out. This is a great idea," she reassured me gently.

"Taylor's right. Now take your fake I.D. and let the fun begin!"

Sharpay shoved a piece of plastic that turned out to be the I.D. belonging to someone named Marissa Legume into my unsuspecting hands. The picture bore a striking resemblance to me, or what I may have looked like when I wasn't wearing quite so much eye shadow.

"A fake I.D.!?" I choked. As if I hadn't been nervous enough about my impending rejection, now I had to worry about becoming a felon and having a last name that meant "vegetable" in French on top of it? A girl could only take so much stress.

Sharpay rolled her eyes and said, in a rather rude tone of voice, "How else did you expect to get in?" I could tell I had already tapped her miniscule reserve of patience.

"B-but..." I stammered, staring at the card I held in my shaking hands.

Taylor - that evil, evil girl - knew just what to say to get me onboard. "You want to wow Troy, don't you?" I nodded like a puppet; a slave to my stupid crush. "Well, this is your chance!"

Finally, I gave in, clutching Tay's arm as I felt my ankles wobble. I could only imagine how amazingly sexy my inability to walk made me look. The way Sharpay glided along in her own shoes made me want to strangle her, seeing that it was only because of her stubbornness that I was wearing high heels at all. My poor feet had been spoiled by years of flats and sneakers.

"Would you two get a move on?" the Ice Queen, as she had been dubbed by Chad in kindergarten when she made him cry on the first day, called over her shoulder. She thrust her fake I.D. straight into the hands of the bouncer without so much as a second thought. I, on the other hand, nearly fainted when he took several seconds to glance between my face and the I.D. Sharpay had given me. Taylor pulled me into the club by the hand once we got the go-ahead from the bouncer.

Laughing, she said, "Way to act natural, Gabs!"

"Yes, wearing heels I'd rather eat then walk around in and breaking the law. Completely natural," I replied with an unusual amount of sarcasm that Taylor seemed annoyingly immune to.

Sharpay - what a surprise - didn't seem to be aware of anything that didn't directly involve her. "Let's dance!" she squealed, eyeing the crowd on the dance floor as we ventured further and further into the club.

I was about to protest - I was sure I would have been a health hazard to anyone within ten feet if I attempted to dance - but then something, or rather someone, familiar caught my eye. Troy Bolton was across the club, just coming through the door with Chad and Zeke at his side. He was wearing blue, my absolute favorite color on him, and looking good enough to eat. His easy, confident stride took my breath away and I'll admit it - my mind did that thing where it turns everything to slow motion and plays a cheesy pop song in the background.

"Yeah," I said. "Let's go."

And that, right there, is when all the trouble started. Instead of Troy's first glimpse consisting of me shaking my thing on the dance floor, he got to witness my supreme, and totally embarrassing, klutziness. In my hurry to put Operation Sex Kitty (Sharpay's words, not mine) into action, I forgot about my lovely homicidal heels. The second I took a step, my ankle rolled - quite excruciatingly, I might add - to the side. Off balance, I fell backwards and set off a chain reaction of certain death.

Tay reacted instantly, reaching out to break my fall, and ended up backing into a man with a huge tray of drinks balanced in his hands. Because the higher powers so clearly love me, every drink on that tray, and that included an insanely large pitcher of beer, flew into the air and landed directly on Sharpay. The four of us - innocent tray-baring bystander included - froze in place as we waited for the initial shock to pass us by.

Sharpay was the first to recover, emitting a blood-curdling shriek that had half the club looking our way. Taylor slowly lifted me back onto my feet, inching me along as if she feared that any sudden movements would somehow prematurely bring forth Armageddon. I immediately set to work, un-strapping my feet from the monstrosities that had started it all, well aware of the fact that the next few moments of my life may very well have been my last.

Even the man who had just lost about 50 bucks worth of alcohol seemed to sense that it was wise to get out of dodge before Shar went berserk. Unfortunately, I didn't have that option. Her wild amber eyes were trained solely on me as the stench of the beer that was dripping from ends of her hair and the hem of her dress hit my nostrils.

"Oops?" I tried sheepishly, mentally scrambling for a battle strategy.

"This... is a... one of... a kind... designer... piece..." Sharpay ground out, panting and towering over me like some hideous, shadowy creature from a dark lagoon... only scarier.

My apology died on my lips as, without averting her fiery gaze for even a split second, she grabbed a pitcher of beer from another passing tray.

All I could do was run.

I was way too young to die.


My heart was pounding in my chest as I shuffled up the queue at The Victory, Chad and Zeke on either side of me. I was pretty sure if it started beating any harder it would leap out of my chest and tap-dance along the sidewalk of its own accord.

I placed a hand on my chest, above where my heart was belting out its own drum solo, hoping to slow it - even a little. My head was starting to spin from the erratic rhythm and if it went on much longer I was convinced I would pass out. I hoped that I could remain conscious long enough to at least set my eyes on Gabriella...and maybe even keep breathing long enough to say 'hi'.

I glanced down at the fake I.D. Chad shoved at me, wondering vaguely if 'Cedric Douchenberry' minded that someone was stealing... err... borrowing... his identity. Although – looking back – with a name like that, I highly doubt it.

We finally made it into the club – a small miracle in itself after the stunt Chad pulled. He was clearly anxious about being sprung with a fake I.D, and interpreted the bored look the bouncer gave him as a suspicious one. He chuckled nervously before exclaiming loudly, "Uh...yeah – that was me before I was hot!"

Smooth Chad. Real smooth.

We walked through the doors into the smoky club, squinting slightly as our eyes adjusted. My hands were shaking and my palms were sweaty as I craned my neck, scanning the crowded dance floor for any sign of that gorgeous brunette who could take my bre...

I was snapped out of my thoughts as Zeke whacked me across the back of the head. Apparently he was getting rather good at reading me.

The blow to my skull seemed to do me some good, however, as I forgot my antsiness and focused instead on coming up with the most creative way to inflict a slow and painful death on Zeke.

It was around three minutes later – when I was feeling quite smug, having finally settled on hog-tying him in the middle of a desert and covering him in honey, leaving him to be devoured by whichever weird and wonderful insect decided he looked tasty - that I saw her.
Gabriella Montez in all her radiant beauty.

She looked incredible. Slightly uncomfortable and sporting a rather awkward gait, which I assumed I could attribute to the fact she was trying to teeter along in at least four inches of heels, but incredible all the same.

"Dude, there's the girls," I heard Chad comment somewhere to my left, but I couldn't tear my eyes off of Ella – she looked hot.

Her eyes suddenly caught mine, and she said something to the girls before taking a step in my direction. Well, I could only guess that she was headed in my direction. Or at least the general direction in which the guys and I were standing. I may never know where Gabriella was actually heading that night.

Sharpay and Taylor had made a fatal error earlier that evening when they had forced Ella's feet into a pair of cruel and ruthless torture implements more commonly known as stilettos. As two of her closest friends, they should probably have realised there was a good reason they rarely saw her in heels.

As much as I love Gabriella, I know deep down there is no denying she is a klutz with a capital K-L-U-T-Z. Of course I would never admit that to her face. God help me, I wouldn't have had it any other way. Most of the time - when it wasn't making her life hell - I found it completely adorable.

The hundred or so other club-going patrons, however, were about to be acquainted with Gabriella's inner disaster and they weren't going to find it quite as endearing.

With that first, fatal step, Ella started World War Three before I even had time to blink. The guys and I looked on, frozen, as her ankle rolled in those death traps Sharpay called shoes, and she fell. Thankfully, Taylor caught her before she hit the floor, but not soon enough to stop her from knocking into a guy carrying a tray full of drinks.

Now I'm no math whiz, but I'd say that a pitcher of beer hurtling through the air in a crowded night club has about a one in one hundred chance of landing directly on Sharpay.

Well... she always liked to be unique.

Her piercing shriek could be heard over the music, and my first instinct was to race over there, grab Ella, throw her over my shoulder and high-tail it out of there.

I honestly feared for her life. I think I was even more scared than the time my Mom told me if my room wasn't clean by the time she got home from work, she'd tie me to the couch, prop my eyes open with matchsticks, and make me watch the video of my birth... over, and over... and over.

I tried to move but couldn't – Chad and Zeke were holding me back. They later told me they had saved me from launching myself on a kamikaze mission.

They're so melodramatic.

While Sharpay was busy screeching at my poor Ella about 'one of a kind designer pieces', Taylor was the first of the girls to spot the burly security guard heading towards the scene. Sharpay had managed to procure a fresh pitcher of beer, and Gabriella backed up quickly before turning on her heel only to slam straight into six feet and two hundred and fifty pounds of incredibly pissed off bouncer.

I watched helplessly as she stared at the massive chest in front of her, her eyes slowly rising until they met the dark, angry eyes of the guard.

"You... you... and you..." he said in a dangerously low voice, pointing his finger at Gabriella, Taylor and Sharpay – who was still clutching the pitcher in mid air."Out. Now."

"Ooooh no – no, no, no, no, no," I heard Sharpay protest. "Not until REVENGE IS MINE!"

I may be biased, but what happened next was definitely an unfair attack on Ella. Yes, she may have ruined Sharpay's one of a kind designer dress, but she was completely defenceless – still staring up at the bouncer, her knees shaking – as the pitcher of beer Sharpay had been holding seconds earlier ended up dumped over her head from behind.

Gabriella blinked in shock, but had no time to react as two more security guards appeared either side of the first.

You know, I had a feeling that whole day that there would be something different about that night.

Secretly, I hoped that it was some sort of foresight that Gabriella was going to melt into my arms on the dance floor, and proclaim her undying love for me.

What I didn't count on was arriving at the club, only to watch a beer-drenched Gabriella being manhandled out the door approximately six minutes after my arrival, by three bouncers holding grudges against the world yelling something about 'disturbing the peace'.


I guess my sixth sense needed a major tune up.

Sooo, there you have it! Chapter one of our brand new story! What did you think? Love it? Hate it? Let us know!

Up next: The fallout from the catastrophic events of Club!Catastrophe! and meet Gabriella's new roommate!

Stay tuned, stay cool, and leave us some love!

Kylie and Jessa