Thomas Fulton, looking out of place on the golf course in his neatly-pressed suit, walked stiffly across the fairway as he went to the second hole to check on one of his newest caddies. The summer sun was high in the sky and baring down on him uncomfortably, but nothing made him sweat quite like young Miss Evans breathing down his neck about Troy Bolton.

As much as he didn't want to be checking on some delinquent teenage boy in the fulfillment of some crazed teenage girl's fantasy, Mr. Fulton did appreciate the temporary isolation from the country club members and their demands. When he was alone, he liked to think of the future.

The Lava Springs Country Club was a pretty good gig, especially during the school year when Sharpay Evans was a safe distance from him and his mental health. However, his dream was to move back east and manage a five-star hotel that scraped the sky. He would love to work at maybe a Hilton hotel, or better yet, a Tipton hotel—something big and beautiful and far from spoiled little rich girls.

Mr. Fulton was almost feeling peaceful when he heard a loud splash from the direction of the long, shallow pond that snaked along the right side of the first hole's fairway. He turned just in time to see a surfboard land unceremoniously on top of the water.

"Is this some sort of prank?" Mr. Fulton wondered out loud, scratching his head at the curious sight before him.

He began to cautiously approach the pond and nearly jumped out of his skin when two heads popped out of the water.

"Holy camoly!" he yelled in fear, but as soon as he realized that the two heads belonged to two teenagers, his blood began to boil. Now on the warpath, he stomped toward the pond as the two teens flailed about, gasping for air.

"Mack! Are you okay?" Brady exclaimed, grabbing her shoulders.

"What are you doing here?" she shouted, but as soon as she did, she realized that something was very wrong. Her voice was way too loud…

Brady was focused only on her, and when her expression became extremely confused, he said, "Mack, what's wrong?"

"Brady, the surf… I was trying to yell over the sound of the surf, but there is no sound of the surf," she said, looking up with concern at the perfectly blue and cloudless sky.

"What?" Brady asked, but then he looked at the water around him, only to find that it was completely placid, aside from the ripples that his and Mack's movements were sending out.

They both exchanged a look and then simultaneously stopped kicking, letting their feet fall and touch the bottom of the pond. They realized that the water only came up to their chests, and that's when the panic set in.

Mack looked around frantically, taking in the rolling mounds of green around the pond, as well as the trees and buildings in the distance.

"Brady, where are we?" she asked, holding onto his arm for some sense of stability.

Looking in the opposite direction, Brady discovered something even more confusing.

"Uh, Mack? There's a man coming straight at us, and he looks really mad!" he warned, starting to pull her toward the opposite side of the pond.

Mack yelped at the sight of Mr. Fulton, who looked about ready to blow his top as he scooted toward them.

"You delinquents get out of that pond right this instant!" he screamed, shaking a finger at them.

"Well, if you insist!" Brady yelled back nervously as he and Mack neared the pond's edge and got ready to make a break for it.

"Wait, no! Stay right there!" Mr. Fulton backpedaled. "I will not have children running around my country club engaging in whatever shenanigans they please! You just wait until I call your parents!"

"Run!" Brady yelled to Mack as soon as they had their feet on dry ground.

Hand in hand, they took off, running haphazardly across the neatly kempt grass.

"What did we ever do to him?" Mack asked breathlessly as she looked over her shoulder and saw the man running around the length of the pond in an effort to catch them.

Brady also glanced over his shoulder and said, "Whoa, he can run pretty fast for an old dude."

"Brady, focus! How did we get here, and why are we running away from an angry guy in a suit?"

"I have no idea, and because he's a scary man who I really don't want to be near!"

Mack looked back once more and saw the man kick it into high gear, quickly gaining on them.

"Fair enough!" she replied anxiously to Brady, running even faster and leaving the more important questions for later.

"You two get back here!" Mr. Fulton shouted. "This is private property! I'll have you both arrested and tried as adults!"

"Arrested?" Mack yelled back at him. "Isn't that a little much?"

"Not in my book, it's not!"

"We're trespassers? And since we're running away, now we're fugitives!" Brady reasoned aloud.

"Let's split up," Mack suddenly decided, dropping Brady's hand but continuing to run beside him.

"What? Mack, no!" Brady cried, stopping in his tracks. "Is it because I'm a fugitive?"

"No, Brady! I mean split up as in run in different directions!" Mack clarified quickly. "It'll be harder for him to catch us. We'll find each other later, I promise. Now go!"

He seemed hesitant, so she pushed him in one direction and then started sprinting away from him.

"Oh, no you don't!" Mr. Fulton yelled as he saw the two teens split up. He came to an abrupt halt, catching his breath momentarily while deciding which one to go after.

He looked toward the girl and then realized that she was running straight toward the second hole.

Taking his walkie-talkie from his pocket, he turned and took off after the boy, ignoring the strange looks he was getting from a couple pulling up to the first hole in a golf cart.

He held the small device up to his face and loudly yelled, "Troy!"