Gift for tara1031 (Part 2/4)
Author: hilaryscribbles
Recipient: Tara1031
Title: Life After Grad Night: The Galveston Version
Pairing(s): Chad/Ryan, Chad/Gary StuOC, Ryan/OC, Zeke/Sharpay
Summary: Chad parties, takes a yearbook note too seriously, and moves to Galveston, Texas to be an adult. Also, Ryan can't spell. Nobody picks up their phones.
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): This is angst. Angstyangstyangst.
Word Count: 6,260
Disclaimer: All High School Musical characters herein are the property of Disney. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes:
This is one of two separate continuations to “Galveston Grad Gala 08.” This is the less fluffy, greatly melodramatic and therefore more obliquely written and non-sensical version of what happened after Ryan and Chad’s Grad Night celebration in Galveston. This storyline is unrelated to its fluffier cousin’s (The Long Beach Version).
Inspired by Ryan's hat, my mother's high school reunion, that obnoxious song by Vitamin C, and the blank period between high school graduation and true adulthood. In case you were wondering, Chad chose to move to Galveston because it is awesome.
Previous Parts
Part 1
**
Life After Grad Night: The Galveston Version
**
So we're all gonna be leaving. This is the note's first line. Written in thick glittering gel pen, it takes up the lower left-hand corner of his year book's back cover, squeezed into the space next to the gigantic Wildcat head. Can you believe we wont see us every day? Stop crying you baby everybody graduates.
In Galvesten the note continues they're is a restaraunt called The Blue Marlin remember it? Chad tries to. We'll meet there four years from tonight, right where you fell down & The next part is crossed out. Chad knows what it said, though, before Ryan's better judgement caused him to cover it up. We'll meet at six p.m. so don't forget!!! You don't have to promise me cuz I'm promiseing you. We'll make it the aniversary of when I saved you from a life ruaning party fowl. I guess you can bring Troy but I might kill you if you do. Unless I get to save you from falling on him again cuz last time that turned out pretty well in the end.
Yours R.E.
P.S.--You owe me one black and white hat from American Eagle. A new one please!!! you can keep the one you stole from me because it's been almost a year since you took it anyway and I don't want your lice. Also a blue polo shirt from the Gap. Please do not stane this one with beer.
P.S.S.--I'm gonna visit you all the time so don't miss me too bad.
P.S.S.S.--I'm glad I am your freind and thank you for dancing for me.
**
Year 6, December
Albuquerque isn't crowded enough to allow Chad room to breathe, and truthfully he can't wait to get back on his plane and fly home, home to Galveston, home to the place he loves, regardless of whether or not Mike wanted to stay. Mike likes Albuquerque despite never living there; Chad can tell it is hard for him to leave his parents, and wishes he could stay longer. It is Mike's fault, though, that Chad is put in the position he is in at all, since Chad wanted to stay on the boat for the holiday instead, letting his mother and sisters stay with them. Mike'd insisted, though.
Mike's parents are not impressed with Chad when Mike introduces them; they comment on his dreadlocks and wonder if Mike found him during one of their trips to Jamaica. Chad doesn't have much to say to that, picking at the roast pheasant Maria Gonzales, the Virgil's maid, prepared for them. Eventually he simply slinks down into his chair and lets the family chatter among themselves. Mike feels awful about all of it, though not so awful as he does when the Evanses show up to his family New Years party.
Chad hadn't expected to deal with the Evanses, whose undiminishable enthusiasm for Chad, developed over a month of dancing for their son and one last summer of hard labor, is rivalled only by their love of Troy Bolton (head of the basketball program at East High, who takes his teams all over the country to smear less formidable schools). Chad turns an interesting shade of purple as Sharpay gives him a hug, demanding to know all about his travels with Celebration Cruise Line and how old McGuilly is doing, and then brightens visibly when she tells him not-at-all regretfully that Ryan's fiance is thousands of miles away, sick with a cold he'd caught on a Caribbean cruise just the week before.
"So Ryan's alone," she tells him, something in her flat brown eyes not nearly as wicked as Mike or Chad recall that it should be. "Spencer is a real bore, though. I don't care if he's here or not. I don't know, you might like him...he's a baseball player. I'm surprised you haven't heard anything about him, but Ryan did say you haven't called him in months. Why is that, anyway?"
Chad stares at her.
"So," Sharpay drags on slowly, logically, "when are you visiting Manhattan?"
"I'm leaving," declares Chad.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," says Sharpay, and drags him onto the dance floor.
Mike's parents will never let him leave, much less for Chad's sake, and it is all he can do to let Chad take the Bronco and drive back to his own mother's place to let off steam. Ryan watches the entire thing from behind Mike's father's bar, face oddly blank.
Mike crosses the room to sit with him, not sure how his presence will effect him. Mike is used to worrying about Chad now, not Ryan.
"How's work?" asks Mike, not really caring about the Pink Panther's bazillionth anniversary run since its smash hit opening.
"Sharpay did that on purpose," says Ryan, too lost in his own thoughts to pay any attention to him. "Anyway, Spencer's not sick. We called things off months ago. Sharpay's pulling something."
"Sorry to hear that," Mike replies awkwardly, stirring his eggnog with nervous fingers. "I didn't know you were engaged."
"He was," Ryan says coldly. "I wasn't."
"What?"
"He was only my fiance in a manner of speaking," Ryan clarifies. "He was a fiance, and of course he was in love with me, but he wasn't engaged to me." He pauses. "Besides, Mom can't handle the idea of me having sex for the sake of having sex."
Mike doesn't know if he can, either, especially when he could be in a nice, comfortable relationship with someone else.
"You lied to your family?" Mike asks, and he feels a little bit queasy.
Ryan smiles sheepishly; he shrugs. "A thousand miles and seven years apart, and they can't drop it," he says pointedly, and then transfers his gaze to Sharpay's sculpted back. "Of course, come on, man. They haven't stopped bothering me about him since the class reunion." Mike reddens as Ryan continues, polite as ever, "So he's still bothering you, I see."
"Bothering me? You mean..." Ryan deadpanned. "Oh. Well...sort of. We're having problems, though," Mike admits, and then blurts out, "How come you never visited Galveston? He always wanted you to, and then you always flaked."
Ryan looks like he's been punched for a moment, but he recovers quickly, plastering on a faux smile. "Well, I mean, I wrote that in high school. Do those things even matter any more?" Mike knows he shouldn't scowl at Ryan, because it is the truth, but he can't help it, especially when Ryan chooses to fill his glass with more vodka rather than meet his gaze.
Whoosh! goes the tap. "I didn't know he took that stupid yearbook so seriously."
"If you'd ever visited like you said you would, maybe he wouldn't have," Mike says.
"So how'd he meet you? You don't even like sports." Ryan is trying to be polite. It isn't working.
"I like baseball," Mike says, suddenly defensive. "We met at a baseball game. He won. We were together for a while. That's that."
Pain flits briefly over Ryan's face. "Oh," he says, as if that explains everything.
**
Year Five, November
It rains in Galveston. Chad's never gotten used to rain, much less being stuck in it, and he knows there is no logical reason he ought to be stuck in it at all. He can't help it, though; there is something seductive about lofty promises unfulfilled, or at least in the notion that they might be fulfilled at some point.
"Some point," or at least the specified "some point," has come and gone exactly six and a half months, one week, two days, twelve hours, and twenty three minutes ago ("Not counting, I swear," he'd lied to a wistful Martha, still marvelling at the slender blond toddler tucked into the crook of her arm), but the intangible "some point," the "some point" that is not shimmering in Sakura Jelly Roll ink pen on the back cover of his year book, the one that is not a shadow in the wrinkles of his brain now six long, hard years old, still whispers to him, still coaxes and teases his good sense into flights of childish fancy that sometimes make him spend hours in the Blue Marlin, when he's had one (or three) too many and Mike can't drag him home.
Tonight is one of those nights; Mike takes one look at him and leaves him to it, driving off into the rain alone. When Chad, soaking, finally sits himself down at the bar, Pete McGuilly stares at him pitifully, dropping his dishrag on the counter top. "What're you waiting for, Danforth?"
"Nothing. Nobody." Chad insists, still wishing for the familiar tick-tick-tick of white loafers on linoleum flooring that he hasn't seen--or even been in the same state as--since the "fight" they'd had one year previously.
**
Year Five, June
In Albuquerque, it is at their high school reunion that Chad realizes Ryan Evans is a really big deal. Well--perhaps not in the nationally-renowned sense, but certainly in the "around East High" sense. It isn't just his stunner shades; it isn't his white suit and attractive female date. (Why she's female is anyone's guess, though Chad thinks he notices her checking out Gabby's still glorious--though fuller and less perky--feminine wiles. That could just be female competitiveness, though; Gabby's boyfriend, some musician with greasy blond hair, is pretty cute, but Chad doesn't really know if he's cute enough to warrant jealous stares. Chad has trouble understanding women, as his friend Emilina likes to point out; her scolding reminds him distantly of Taylor's critiques of him. Taylor isn't at the reunion, but that doesn't surprise Chad at all.) No--what clues him in to Ryan's new status is the fact that everyone sort of avoids him, smiles at him in awe, that Troy Bolton takes his cute wife (Susan? Lacey? Mo?) by the arm and points out that he danced with him once, and the pretty woman looks flabbergasted.
Chad is furious. Ryan never mentioned he was a big deal. (Was that why he never bothered to visit no matter how many times he says he might, not once in five years?)
It isn't until he notices Zeke wrapping an arm around her waist that he realizes Ryan's date is Sharpay, with a gorgeous new nose and about thirty extra pounds of hard dancer's muscle on her wispy frame. He had no idea that Zeke and Sharpay were even in contact at all; he wonders if they actually are, or if this is one of those half-lustful, half-nostalgic "Dude, you sort of had a crush on me once!" situations. Zeke, in a Prada suit courtesy of the paycheck Cesar's Palace Las Vegas grants its hot new head pastry chef, is certainly rich enough to satisfy an Evans.
Chad hates that nobody in East High's current ASB has spiked the punch. How inconsiderate. Every high school reunion should be overflowing with alcohol.
Ryan looks...well...like a famous choreographer, Chad supposes, like he's been up for days, like he could be pushed over by wind (he would catch himself gracefully before hitting the ground, of course), like there are layers of fragile artistic power mere jocks could never comprehend under the thick bands of muscle that wrap his arms, torso, and legs. He looks older now, more like his father, but he's still smiling, still staggering, still wearing pink...still quintessentially Ryan. Chad had forgotten what Ryan really was, all of those years without seeing him move around in person, showing himself off. Now Ryan doesn't have to, though; now his breathing showcases him, the way his step is even more fluid, the way his clothing is tailored just so. He wishes Taylor was here to mock Ryan with him; he wishes Kelsi wasn't too grown-up to do that sort of thing any more, and he wishes Troy wasn't in awe of him.
He also wishes he'd dump the stupid little miniature dog he is holding, but knowing Ryan, its name is Chelsea and he refers to it as his daughter.
Mostly he wants to go home to his Grown Up Life in Galveston. He wants Ryan to visit him, to spend time with him like he actually matters.
He tries to hide beside the beverage table.
Despite all of this, Ryan practically soars over to him, straight to Chad, no pretenses. Sharpay and Zeke roll their eyes at each other behind his back, as if all of this is some old joke. At least he leaves the dog behind with his...is that a butler? Oh, no, it's Kelsi's Oberlin-graduated-PhD-boasting composer boyfriend, who is now cuddling it and feeding it Ritz crackers. Chad tries to run away, but Ryan latches on to Chad's shoulders with strong, able hands. Chad winces at the hopeful expression on his face. It's all wrong.
"Oh. Evans," Chad says limply. It's his usual greeting as of late, when Ryan bothers to talk to him at all.
"I was worried you wouldn't come. My mom said she talked to Mike's aunt who said Mike said you didn't want to come," Ryan says, and he is disgustingly cheerful. Pathetically cheerful. Why should he be so cheerful, anyway? It's almost as if he really thought Chad wouldn't be around. Yeah right. Like Troy'd let him live down missing their first high school reunion, when Troy was the one who'd organized the whole stupid thing in the first place. "Glad you changed your mind."
"Me? Me, not come?" Chad asks, accusatory. "I go places I'm supposed to go, Evans." He doesn't mention the fact that Troy metaphorically dragged him here over the phone, nor that he didn't expect Ryan to come back at all, either.
Ryan looks startled, but cheerful all the same. Chad wonders if he's acting. "Yeah, but I mean...Galveston, it's far away--you still like it there and--"
"I work on a cruise line," Chad's voice drips venom. "All I do is travel."
Ryan's grip tightens on Chad's shoulders. "Wow. I think I missed something," Ryan says, still impossibly happy looking for someone staring into the face of a man who resents him so thoroughly. Chad does note the confusion hidden in his eyes. So he's sincere, then.
Chad wants to hit him, but he won't, because he hasn't been in high school for five years, and that is a Very High School Thing To Do. Instead he says, tone terse, "No, Ryan, nothing gets past you."
He regrets it the minute he says it. So much for being mature.
Ryan's eyes widen in startled realization; his fingers are like warm, pleasant knives on Chad's shoulders as they slip a little, and Ryan takes a miniscule step back. "Oh, god. This is about that...that yearbook thing, isn't it?"
Chad suddenly feels incredibly stupid, incredibly childish. "What are you talking about?"
Ryan frowns. Chad is no actor.
"I guess I did something stupid, didn't I? Look, Chad, if I'd known--"
Time to change the subject. "You never told me how...important you are. I'm surprised a big man like you'd show up to a thing like this," Chad says, because he has no idea how to respond to Ryan's question. He tries to avoid thinking about that. He lets his tone slip into the icy bark he usually reserved for occasions when Troy had been especially dense. It is a tone years of normal hormone levels had chased from his system. "I mean, Manhattan? It's pretty far away."
Ryan is instantly crushed. Even so, he keeps his hands on Chad's arms, as though he's frozen there. "But...I wanted to be back. I mean, I thought you wouldn't be here--but...you are, I was hoping you would be, and..." He is slipping. Chad's never seen Ryan slip before.
Chad's jaw twitches, and he doesn't want to feel bad, but he does anyway. Why can't I grow up? he growls at himself. "Why didn't you visit earlier, then?"
"You never invited me," Ryan said dully, and Chad's never felt so stupid in his life.
"What do you mean, invited you? You don't need me to--you know I miss you, but you never said--"
"Ryan?" someone asks hesitantly from over Chad's shoulder, and Ryan releases Chad reluctantly, fingers tracing Chad's arms. He replaces that infernal kicked dog expression with one of polite welcome. His hands tuck themselves away in his pockets, biceps flexing with a ripple visible beneath his shirt sleeves, and he is so very strong now.
Chad frowns as Ryan demands with careful cheer, "Virgil! Wow, what're you doing here?"
Mike is tactful. Chad appreciates this about him. It's up to Chad whether or not Mike will be introduced to Ryan as Chad's boyfriend.
Ryan's face falls when Chad is unable to say anything at all, opting instead to place his hand gently in Mike's, staring at the white linoleum of the cafeteria floor.
"Wow, Mike," Ryan says at length, right before plastering on his company smile. "Really? This guy? You know he's a terrible dancer."
Chad looks up then, and sees the Ryan he defeated in the baseball game staring back at him regretfully, and it's almost enough to make him consider doing whatever crazy thing Ryan wanted, to let Ryan try and make up for not fulfilling a promise that should never have mattered in the first place.
Instead, Chad turns to talk to Troy about his son, and ignores Ryan completely.
**
Year Five, May
In Galveston, it is not difficult to find a job with a degree in physical conditioning. It helps, of course, to have the proper certification to give massages--Chad has this, luckily--and he quickly picks up a job with Celebration Cruise Line, earning twenty dollars an hour. He enjoys it most of the time; it can be a little tiring, working with cranky elderly people, but he has difficulty staying annoyed and grossed-out when he earns relaxed, languid smiles (and huge tips) from his customers at the end of each forty-five minute session.
He's travelled to Cancun, Brazil, Key West, and the Caribbean with Celebration and has met hundreds of exciting, interesting people. The boy he was all of those years ago in Albuquerque is little more than a collection of vague memories in his mind; squeaking tennis shoes and dusty outfields, Troy Bolton's crinkle-eyed laugh, and the Krylon-dust combination stink of Darbus's detentions. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror and sees the broad-shouldered, soft-eyed stare of a former youth basketball coach turned masseuse, he wonders what it would be like to have a dancer beside him, all shiny apple cheeks and fluid movement and sarcastic humor. He's had one girlfriend since leaving Albuquerque to try and fill the blank spaces in his life--Champ was her name, a Bio major at A&M, who liked to kick his butt at tennis but rooted for the Lakers of all people--but he's always known a girl isn't really what he is looking for; has ever looked for. Mike still teases him for that mistake, and still insists that when Ryan tells Chad he misses him and wishes he could visit, he means it.
Chad wonders what's kept Ryan from doing just that; when he's feeling sensible, he knows it is rare for people to survive cross-country friendships, and he's already got about three others. After all, it's not as though he's flying to Manhattan to see Pink Panther: The Musical, so he knows it's all relative. Unfortunately, feeling sensible when it came to Ryan wasn't something most people did very easily.
They've been playing phone tag for months, and nothing of any importance has ever been said.
Chad doesn't give up hope, though. Ryan still has three days until he's broken his promise. I miss high school sometimes, you know? Home...Albuquerque...and all that...let's play baseball next time I see you. I haven't done that in years an old voice mail message of Ryan's repeats inside his head; the message had to be six months old now, and Chad knows he can't really be serious about visiting him, (he isn't even in Albuquerque, and Ryan missed Albuquerque, not Galveston) but...secretly, Chad hopes Ryan won't break his promise.
**
Year Five, April
He is a little saddened when he learns that Ryan has been chosen to participate in a graduate fellowship from NYU's theatre department, though he isn't surprised. "He's thrilled, I bet," says Chad, stirring his grasshopper. He wishes he had Gabby or Taylor to talk to, but Mike's not so bad, really.
Manhattan is awfully far away not to miss May 12th.
"Oh, by the way..." Mike bends to pick something up; it's a box wrapped in creamy, softly crinkled tissue paper, "since you never bothered to give Ryan your new apartment's proper address, he sent this to me. It's a Christmas present, I think."
"But it's April. I only moved a week ago," Chad says, trying to keep the excitement from making his hands shake as he takes the box. The milky tissue reminds him of Ryan's throat and the delicate skin of his inner elbows; he misses him terribly all of a sudden, and wonders why he never appreciated any of this while they were together in high school.
"Hmm," Mike shrugs. "Maybe it's a housewarming gift."
"That's cool," Chad says with calculated calmness.
"He actually wants that address of yours, by the way," Mike adds casually, tactfully ignoring the joy that splashes across Chad's face. "He might be able to talk to you if, you know, he writes to you or something."
"I'll call him tonight," says Chad, and it's clear he's been considering sharing this information with Ryan for a long, long time. Mike just smiles, ruffles his hair, and asks casually about the love interests he knows Chad doesn't have.
**
Year Four
In Galveston time passes slowly; Chad likes it that way. In Fall, he will be celebrating his third year as a Galveston resident, fourth as a high school graduate. He moved away from Albuquerque one year after graduation, and now, suddenly, he's finished general education and is well on his way to a bachelor's degree.
Chad has always loved sports, and it is no surprise to anyone that he has chosen to pursue a degree in physical education. It did surprise his mother somewhat, however, when he told her he'd chosen to play for Texas A&M instead of U-of-A.
"Baby," she had asked him over the phone on the morning he'd received his acceptance letter, "I thought this Texas thing...I thought it was a phase, you know?"
"It is," Chad lied with a sigh, pajama'd legs perched on swamp cooler that regulated the temperature in his old, moldy apartment.
He thinks of the conversation as he stares out over the island he's come to love so much, over the old winding roads and ancient houses and tourist traps, and he finally rests his gaze on the grand old theatre where he will watch Cabaret later that evening. He imagines a little blond prancing around the stage, and worries at how accepting he's become of the arts. Ryan keeps insisting he'll be performing in Chad's city someday. Chad remembers thinking it might've been true back when his mother would call him to come home, but he doesn't know if it's true anymore. He wants it to be.
"I just gotta stay for a little longer, mama," was what he'd told his mama, trying to sound like he didn't really enjoy the idea of staying in Galveston for the rest of his life. He can't really imagine going "home" anymore, now.
"Why?" his mother's voice had been glorified static on his cellular phone, but her sadness was clear as though they were talking face to face. "What're you waiting for?"
No matter how many times his mother asked, he never answered, and now she doesn't even bother. She's seen the hat hanging from the pegs above his phone charger.
**
Year Three, June
"Heya, Ducks," Chad says, and grins. "Wondering when I'd hear from you again!"
"Chad! So Shar and I were talking, and I was thinking, what if I come visit you next week?"
Chad's heart pounds in his ears. "Really? When?"
"I don't know--how about if we fly in Tuesday? Expedia's got tickets killer cheap."
"Tuesday? I gotta work Tuesday," Chad says fretfully.
Ryan lets out a strained puff of air. "Oh, well...okay. So what're you up to? Still thinking of growing out your hair?"
"Yeah," Chad says, wrapping a finger around a lock of the stuff and yanking it. It springs back and hits him in the cheek.
"Cool. Maybe I'll see them soon. Then I can make fun of you for real."
"Oh, yeah. Eagerly anticipating that."
**
"Hiya, Chad," says the answering machine. "Sorry--change of plans; I can't fly over. I've got call-backs for Zanna; can you believe it? Anyway... I guess I'll call your cell, okay?" A pause. "Maybe next time. I'm...sorry. I really wanted to make fun of your hair."
Beep! says the answering machine. It continues in a mechanical voice, Tuesday, June 22nd, 5:02 pm.
Chad does not hear the message; he's just left for the airport.
**
It's alright, he thinks to himself with a sigh, flipping his cell phone shut on Ryan's voicemail message. At least he'll come back for that stupid yearbook thing.
**
Year Two, April
In Galveston, people who live around town know each other fairly well despite the large city tourist-trap feeling of the place, and Chad adapts to the lifestyle fairly quickly, even with everyone in town knowing his business. In Galveston, people are kind to him no matter who he decides he is, what he decides people who write in Sakura Jelly Roll pen really mean to him when he doesn't hear from them after too long and can't stop counting down the days until May 12th. (It does help, of course, that Mrs. Evans gave such a glowing review of him to the Texas A&M Board of Collegiate Athletics.)
Chad's first real friend in Galveston is a wealthy realtor's nephew named Mike Virgil. Chad befriends him first because he is a basketball enthusiast and a contributor to the University where Chad plays, secondly because he's been out of the closet for years and helps mentor him when things get rough, and thirdly because he's a personal family friend of the Evanses who keeps him informed as to what the Evans "children" do with their time when Ryan gets too busy to call him.
"Be careful of Mike," Ryan says over the phone after a particularly horrible rehearsal.
"Why?" Chad asks, because Mike, with his rugged good looks and messy dirty blond hair, reminds him of super heroes and golden retriever puppy dogs and Slip 'n' Slides and All-Am-ur-i-cun hotdog cook-outs on the fourth of July. He tells Ryan as much.
Ryan goes oddly quiet. "Because he's a real estate agent," Ryan replies at length. "That's only, like, one step down from a lawyer."
"What do you have against real estate agents?" Chad laughs, and curls his toes over the lip of a packing box.
"Superheroes and golden retrievers and hotdog cook-outs," Ryan says cryptically, and Chad can envision the pout he's wearing perfectly.
**
Year Two, May
"Manhattan? Um, that's an awfully long ways away, Evans," Chad says, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist.
Ryan laughs heartily. "Oh, come on. I'm just applying. It's not like a package deal or anything. NYU has one of the best theatre programs in the US. Like I'll get in on the first try."
Chad rolls his eyes, picks up his mini basketball, and swishes it through his hoop. "Yeah, whatever. You'll get in, and then I'll never see you again." He says this with utmost confidence. "That's cool. Do what you want."
Ryan is silent for a moment, and then asks jokingly, "What, you miss me that badly?"
Chad laughs, because duh. "No. I'm just worried I'll never meet anyone as easy to pick on as you again."
Ryan laughs too, but he sounds weird when he hangs up the phone.
**
Year Two, September
Chad, says his answering machine, I didn't get in...I think it was my grades or something. I want to come see you. God...what a crappy night. Nobody here knows how to pick on me like you do, so obviously I feel like crap. Yeah. Call me, or I really won't come an visit you, and you'll have to settle for...kicking preschoolers or something.
Chad calls him back three times. Ryan never answers.
**
Year One, May
"This is our one year anniversary," Ryan slurs on the phone, and Chad's knuckles go white on the edges of the box he is unpacking.
"Our what?"
"Our one year anniversary," Ryan goes on, and laughs loudly when something sprays the phone. Chad has to duck his head.
"The one year anniversary of what, man?" Chad asks, even though he thinks he knows.
"You know, of that kiss!" Ryan declares, and somebody beside him screams WHAT KISS? loud enough that Chad can hear it.
"You remember that?" Chad laughs, and feels woefully inadequate. He stares out of his window over the streets below, and catches sight of The Blue Marlin sign.
"Um, duh! I'd only been waiting for that since, like, Junior year!"
Chad's heart pounds in his ears.
"Don't you remember?" comes Ryan's plaintive reply.
Chad tries to say something. "Yeah--I remember, because I almost crushed Gabby and Troy before...before."
Ryan guffaws, and it's totally unlike him. "Ha! Yeah. Well, maybe we ought to forget it." Chad's heart sinks. Ryan's voice is so musical, even when he's plastered. "But yeah, Chad, huh? Good old Galveston!"
"Yeah," Chad says, and gazes out fondly over the street, remembering. "Good old Galveston."
**
Year One, August
He catches sight of Ryan watching him from where he's skimming stuff out of his parent's pool. Ryan smiles softly, flicking a curl out of Chad's eyes, and he wonders why nobody's brought up that stupid kiss yet.
He wishes Ryan would just let him repeat it.
**
Year Six, January
"You're still here," Ryan says, coming to sit on the driveway. He is holding a cigarette. When he offers it to Chad, Chad gives him a face like he's about to hit him.
Ryan sits beside him, wrapping his arms around one knee like he used to when he was in high school. "So," he says, smoke drifting lazily from between his lips. "Things going well with you and Mike?"
"No," Chad answers dryly, and Ryan can't help but notice the way his cheekbones have developed, his dreadlocks framing them perfectly.
"I like this look for you," Ryan says. "You look...very beach-y."
Chad is dubious, and he takes another drink from the bottle he's holding. "Ryan," he says, "if you're not going to say something that matters, go away."
"It doesn't matter that I like your hair now?" Ryan asks, forcing a smile.
Chad groans. "You told me that three years ago on Facebook. They haven't changed. And no, it doesn't matter to me right now."
Ryan recoils, stunned, but the look passes, and he relaxes into an easy sprawl. "You know, you never did invite me over. I'd want to see you and you'd just say some stupid thing about my voice, or my major, or my duck colle--"
"Ryan," Chad says, and shoots him a look that could melt steel, "you know I wanted you to come. You know I missed you."
"So did I," Ryan says with the barest hint of aggravation. "I told you that over and over."
"And then you stopped answering my phone calls," Chad pressed on, and it's the most honest and open he's ever been.
Chad waits for it, for Ryan's reply, but he doesn't give one.
"Yeah," Chad says, gathering himself to stand, and managing it just barely. "That's what I thought. Now where's Mike?"
Ryan's eyes harden. "Avoiding you, Chad, and I can understand why."
"Of course you can," Chad growls. "It's what you're best at."
**
Year Six, February
Chad rubs the sleep out of his eyes, blinking at the e-card Mike has just opened.
"Hiya Chadders!" It yells in a static-obscured voice that sounds similar to something he'd have recorded on his childhood Talk Boy. I just wanted to let you know that I avoided you because I've been trying to get over you since we were Juniors in high school. Maybe if you'd said anything, I would've told you!" Chad stares at the screen, filled with hearts and chocolates and stupid little blond cupids. "But you know, I bet you don't care about that either. Maybe if I'd written it in your yearbook, you would've paid more attention. But, oh well, you didn't! Happy Valentine's Day!"
The sound cuts out, and Mike and Chad are left staring at the hearts and roses and popping pink bubbles in mild horror.
"That was...pure Sharpay," is all Chad can manage.
"I told you so," Mike snaps, and stalks off to play the jealous...whatever he is to Chad now in their kitchen.
**
Year Six, May
Dear Chad, the email reads, Arial font blocky black formality,
I'm sorry we have been out of contact for so long. Please read this. Things here are fine. I'm writing because the new show opens next week. I wrote it, and Sharpay is directing it. It's sort of a big deal. Will you be in Galveston to see it? I hope you are. It's about baseball!
Mike said you are having trouble and he thinks maybe I can fix it. I'm sorry about that email thing...that was really uncalled for. I guess you're still upset about me missing our plans. I'm sorry. I was worried you would think it was a stupid high school thing like you thought people signing your year book was stupid and thought dancing was stupid. Why is everything stupid to you Chad? Anyway I'm sorry that I was wrong. I meant all of what I wrote to you, even though I can't remember what I said. Maybe I still shouldn't have written it. If I knew you were serious about wanting me to visit you, I would have, but then you went out with that girl and then Mike and I didn't want to ruin things for you. I really have been trying to get over you since high school. And also, you're not very good at this long-distance friendship thing if you don't mind me saying so all of this drama aside.
The play opens at 7:00 on Friday, May 20. Please meet me in front of The Blue Marlin at 5:30 because we are having dinner first. Dress nicely. Or don't. Nobody will care that matters. Anyway I can't go without a date and since Sharpay is engaged now I can't exactly take her. Also you're the only date I want anyway. She told me to write that. I am twenty-nine and I'm still listening to my sister boss me around. I hope you laughed at that last sentence.
Please be there. I will call tomorrow but it was too late to call tonight. Also, Sharpay will kill you if you don't say yes. You probably should.
Yours,
RE
**
Year Six, May
The second time Chad's phone rings he sets it to silent and wonders how much it will cost to switch to a new plan entirely.
Chad folds the latest letter, thinks briefly of Mike and his new man in Manhattan, and deliberates with his long-wounded pride.
He decides to call Troy. It's all he can think to do.
"Sounds like high school drama to me, Chad," Troy says, a bit unimpressed, and sounds remarkably like his father. "You're too old for this stuff."
Chad laughs, and wonders why nobody ever really outgrows this sort of thing. "What do I do?"
Troy pauses, and then laughs a little himself. "Just fix it."
"How?"
For a moment Troy says nothing. "Well, you could always...I don't know. Send him a video of you tap dancing naked. It'd get your point across."
Chad hangs up on him.
After a spine-crackling stretch, a glance out the window, and a yawn for good measure, Chad strolls into his bedroom, not bothering to switch on a light. He digs up an old cap from the pile of clothes in his dresser, places it on his head, and returns to the living room to make another phone call.
He doesn't have to, though. It is vibrating again.
"If this is all a clever ploy to get your hat back, you're six years too late," he offers as greeting. "I'm keeping your pants too, just to spite you."
"Chad, I--"
"So I'm inviting you over," Chad doesn't want to hear it, "since you obviously forgot all about visiting me on that stupid anniversary. I expect you to make it up to me."
"We have an anniversary?" Ryan asks, and his voice shakes for only a syllable or two.
"That's how you were looking at it the last time we actually talked about any of this," Chad says. "Of course, you were drunk off your butt."
Ryan laughs, and clearly he remembers exactly which conversation Chad is talking about. "Chad, if I knew we were still celebrating anniversaries, I wouldn't have had to beg you to take me back on your voicemail."
Chad smiles slowly, like he hasn't smiled in years.
**
Part 3
Recipient: Tara1031
Title: Life After Grad Night: The Galveston Version
Pairing(s): Chad/Ryan, Chad/Gary StuOC, Ryan/OC, Zeke/Sharpay
Summary: Chad parties, takes a yearbook note too seriously, and moves to Galveston, Texas to be an adult. Also, Ryan can't spell. Nobody picks up their phones.
Rating: PG-13
Warning(s): This is angst. Angstyangstyangst.
Word Count: 6,260
Disclaimer: All High School Musical characters herein are the property of Disney. No copyright infringement is intended.
Author's Notes:
This is one of two separate continuations to “Galveston Grad Gala 08.” This is the less fluffy, greatly melodramatic and therefore more obliquely written and non-sensical version of what happened after Ryan and Chad’s Grad Night celebration in Galveston. This storyline is unrelated to its fluffier cousin’s (The Long Beach Version).
Inspired by Ryan's hat, my mother's high school reunion, that obnoxious song by Vitamin C, and the blank period between high school graduation and true adulthood. In case you were wondering, Chad chose to move to Galveston because it is awesome.
Previous Parts
Part 1
**
Life After Grad Night: The Galveston Version
**
So we're all gonna be leaving. This is the note's first line. Written in thick glittering gel pen, it takes up the lower left-hand corner of his year book's back cover, squeezed into the space next to the gigantic Wildcat head. Can you believe we wont see us every day? Stop crying you baby everybody graduates.
In Galvesten the note continues they're is a restaraunt called The Blue Marlin remember it? Chad tries to. We'll meet there four years from tonight, right where you fell down & The next part is crossed out. Chad knows what it said, though, before Ryan's better judgement caused him to cover it up. We'll meet at six p.m. so don't forget!!! You don't have to promise me cuz I'm promiseing you. We'll make it the aniversary of when I saved you from a life ruaning party fowl. I guess you can bring Troy but I might kill you if you do. Unless I get to save you from falling on him again cuz last time that turned out pretty well in the end.
Yours R.E.
P.S.--You owe me one black and white hat from American Eagle. A new one please!!! you can keep the one you stole from me because it's been almost a year since you took it anyway and I don't want your lice. Also a blue polo shirt from the Gap. Please do not stane this one with beer.
P.S.S.--I'm gonna visit you all the time so don't miss me too bad.
P.S.S.S.--I'm glad I am your freind and thank you for dancing for me.
**
Year 6, December
Albuquerque isn't crowded enough to allow Chad room to breathe, and truthfully he can't wait to get back on his plane and fly home, home to Galveston, home to the place he loves, regardless of whether or not Mike wanted to stay. Mike likes Albuquerque despite never living there; Chad can tell it is hard for him to leave his parents, and wishes he could stay longer. It is Mike's fault, though, that Chad is put in the position he is in at all, since Chad wanted to stay on the boat for the holiday instead, letting his mother and sisters stay with them. Mike'd insisted, though.
Mike's parents are not impressed with Chad when Mike introduces them; they comment on his dreadlocks and wonder if Mike found him during one of their trips to Jamaica. Chad doesn't have much to say to that, picking at the roast pheasant Maria Gonzales, the Virgil's maid, prepared for them. Eventually he simply slinks down into his chair and lets the family chatter among themselves. Mike feels awful about all of it, though not so awful as he does when the Evanses show up to his family New Years party.
Chad hadn't expected to deal with the Evanses, whose undiminishable enthusiasm for Chad, developed over a month of dancing for their son and one last summer of hard labor, is rivalled only by their love of Troy Bolton (head of the basketball program at East High, who takes his teams all over the country to smear less formidable schools). Chad turns an interesting shade of purple as Sharpay gives him a hug, demanding to know all about his travels with Celebration Cruise Line and how old McGuilly is doing, and then brightens visibly when she tells him not-at-all regretfully that Ryan's fiance is thousands of miles away, sick with a cold he'd caught on a Caribbean cruise just the week before.
"So Ryan's alone," she tells him, something in her flat brown eyes not nearly as wicked as Mike or Chad recall that it should be. "Spencer is a real bore, though. I don't care if he's here or not. I don't know, you might like him...he's a baseball player. I'm surprised you haven't heard anything about him, but Ryan did say you haven't called him in months. Why is that, anyway?"
Chad stares at her.
"So," Sharpay drags on slowly, logically, "when are you visiting Manhattan?"
"I'm leaving," declares Chad.
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," says Sharpay, and drags him onto the dance floor.
Mike's parents will never let him leave, much less for Chad's sake, and it is all he can do to let Chad take the Bronco and drive back to his own mother's place to let off steam. Ryan watches the entire thing from behind Mike's father's bar, face oddly blank.
Mike crosses the room to sit with him, not sure how his presence will effect him. Mike is used to worrying about Chad now, not Ryan.
"How's work?" asks Mike, not really caring about the Pink Panther's bazillionth anniversary run since its smash hit opening.
"Sharpay did that on purpose," says Ryan, too lost in his own thoughts to pay any attention to him. "Anyway, Spencer's not sick. We called things off months ago. Sharpay's pulling something."
"Sorry to hear that," Mike replies awkwardly, stirring his eggnog with nervous fingers. "I didn't know you were engaged."
"He was," Ryan says coldly. "I wasn't."
"What?"
"He was only my fiance in a manner of speaking," Ryan clarifies. "He was a fiance, and of course he was in love with me, but he wasn't engaged to me." He pauses. "Besides, Mom can't handle the idea of me having sex for the sake of having sex."
Mike doesn't know if he can, either, especially when he could be in a nice, comfortable relationship with someone else.
"You lied to your family?" Mike asks, and he feels a little bit queasy.
Ryan smiles sheepishly; he shrugs. "A thousand miles and seven years apart, and they can't drop it," he says pointedly, and then transfers his gaze to Sharpay's sculpted back. "Of course, come on, man. They haven't stopped bothering me about him since the class reunion." Mike reddens as Ryan continues, polite as ever, "So he's still bothering you, I see."
"Bothering me? You mean..." Ryan deadpanned. "Oh. Well...sort of. We're having problems, though," Mike admits, and then blurts out, "How come you never visited Galveston? He always wanted you to, and then you always flaked."
Ryan looks like he's been punched for a moment, but he recovers quickly, plastering on a faux smile. "Well, I mean, I wrote that in high school. Do those things even matter any more?" Mike knows he shouldn't scowl at Ryan, because it is the truth, but he can't help it, especially when Ryan chooses to fill his glass with more vodka rather than meet his gaze.
Whoosh! goes the tap. "I didn't know he took that stupid yearbook so seriously."
"If you'd ever visited like you said you would, maybe he wouldn't have," Mike says.
"So how'd he meet you? You don't even like sports." Ryan is trying to be polite. It isn't working.
"I like baseball," Mike says, suddenly defensive. "We met at a baseball game. He won. We were together for a while. That's that."
Pain flits briefly over Ryan's face. "Oh," he says, as if that explains everything.
**
Year Five, November
It rains in Galveston. Chad's never gotten used to rain, much less being stuck in it, and he knows there is no logical reason he ought to be stuck in it at all. He can't help it, though; there is something seductive about lofty promises unfulfilled, or at least in the notion that they might be fulfilled at some point.
"Some point," or at least the specified "some point," has come and gone exactly six and a half months, one week, two days, twelve hours, and twenty three minutes ago ("Not counting, I swear," he'd lied to a wistful Martha, still marvelling at the slender blond toddler tucked into the crook of her arm), but the intangible "some point," the "some point" that is not shimmering in Sakura Jelly Roll ink pen on the back cover of his year book, the one that is not a shadow in the wrinkles of his brain now six long, hard years old, still whispers to him, still coaxes and teases his good sense into flights of childish fancy that sometimes make him spend hours in the Blue Marlin, when he's had one (or three) too many and Mike can't drag him home.
Tonight is one of those nights; Mike takes one look at him and leaves him to it, driving off into the rain alone. When Chad, soaking, finally sits himself down at the bar, Pete McGuilly stares at him pitifully, dropping his dishrag on the counter top. "What're you waiting for, Danforth?"
"Nothing. Nobody." Chad insists, still wishing for the familiar tick-tick-tick of white loafers on linoleum flooring that he hasn't seen--or even been in the same state as--since the "fight" they'd had one year previously.
**
Year Five, June
In Albuquerque, it is at their high school reunion that Chad realizes Ryan Evans is a really big deal. Well--perhaps not in the nationally-renowned sense, but certainly in the "around East High" sense. It isn't just his stunner shades; it isn't his white suit and attractive female date. (Why she's female is anyone's guess, though Chad thinks he notices her checking out Gabby's still glorious--though fuller and less perky--feminine wiles. That could just be female competitiveness, though; Gabby's boyfriend, some musician with greasy blond hair, is pretty cute, but Chad doesn't really know if he's cute enough to warrant jealous stares. Chad has trouble understanding women, as his friend Emilina likes to point out; her scolding reminds him distantly of Taylor's critiques of him. Taylor isn't at the reunion, but that doesn't surprise Chad at all.) No--what clues him in to Ryan's new status is the fact that everyone sort of avoids him, smiles at him in awe, that Troy Bolton takes his cute wife (Susan? Lacey? Mo?) by the arm and points out that he danced with him once, and the pretty woman looks flabbergasted.
Chad is furious. Ryan never mentioned he was a big deal. (Was that why he never bothered to visit no matter how many times he says he might, not once in five years?)
It isn't until he notices Zeke wrapping an arm around her waist that he realizes Ryan's date is Sharpay, with a gorgeous new nose and about thirty extra pounds of hard dancer's muscle on her wispy frame. He had no idea that Zeke and Sharpay were even in contact at all; he wonders if they actually are, or if this is one of those half-lustful, half-nostalgic "Dude, you sort of had a crush on me once!" situations. Zeke, in a Prada suit courtesy of the paycheck Cesar's Palace Las Vegas grants its hot new head pastry chef, is certainly rich enough to satisfy an Evans.
Chad hates that nobody in East High's current ASB has spiked the punch. How inconsiderate. Every high school reunion should be overflowing with alcohol.
Ryan looks...well...like a famous choreographer, Chad supposes, like he's been up for days, like he could be pushed over by wind (he would catch himself gracefully before hitting the ground, of course), like there are layers of fragile artistic power mere jocks could never comprehend under the thick bands of muscle that wrap his arms, torso, and legs. He looks older now, more like his father, but he's still smiling, still staggering, still wearing pink...still quintessentially Ryan. Chad had forgotten what Ryan really was, all of those years without seeing him move around in person, showing himself off. Now Ryan doesn't have to, though; now his breathing showcases him, the way his step is even more fluid, the way his clothing is tailored just so. He wishes Taylor was here to mock Ryan with him; he wishes Kelsi wasn't too grown-up to do that sort of thing any more, and he wishes Troy wasn't in awe of him.
He also wishes he'd dump the stupid little miniature dog he is holding, but knowing Ryan, its name is Chelsea and he refers to it as his daughter.
Mostly he wants to go home to his Grown Up Life in Galveston. He wants Ryan to visit him, to spend time with him like he actually matters.
He tries to hide beside the beverage table.
Despite all of this, Ryan practically soars over to him, straight to Chad, no pretenses. Sharpay and Zeke roll their eyes at each other behind his back, as if all of this is some old joke. At least he leaves the dog behind with his...is that a butler? Oh, no, it's Kelsi's Oberlin-graduated-PhD-boasting composer boyfriend, who is now cuddling it and feeding it Ritz crackers. Chad tries to run away, but Ryan latches on to Chad's shoulders with strong, able hands. Chad winces at the hopeful expression on his face. It's all wrong.
"Oh. Evans," Chad says limply. It's his usual greeting as of late, when Ryan bothers to talk to him at all.
"I was worried you wouldn't come. My mom said she talked to Mike's aunt who said Mike said you didn't want to come," Ryan says, and he is disgustingly cheerful. Pathetically cheerful. Why should he be so cheerful, anyway? It's almost as if he really thought Chad wouldn't be around. Yeah right. Like Troy'd let him live down missing their first high school reunion, when Troy was the one who'd organized the whole stupid thing in the first place. "Glad you changed your mind."
"Me? Me, not come?" Chad asks, accusatory. "I go places I'm supposed to go, Evans." He doesn't mention the fact that Troy metaphorically dragged him here over the phone, nor that he didn't expect Ryan to come back at all, either.
Ryan looks startled, but cheerful all the same. Chad wonders if he's acting. "Yeah, but I mean...Galveston, it's far away--you still like it there and--"
"I work on a cruise line," Chad's voice drips venom. "All I do is travel."
Ryan's grip tightens on Chad's shoulders. "Wow. I think I missed something," Ryan says, still impossibly happy looking for someone staring into the face of a man who resents him so thoroughly. Chad does note the confusion hidden in his eyes. So he's sincere, then.
Chad wants to hit him, but he won't, because he hasn't been in high school for five years, and that is a Very High School Thing To Do. Instead he says, tone terse, "No, Ryan, nothing gets past you."
He regrets it the minute he says it. So much for being mature.
Ryan's eyes widen in startled realization; his fingers are like warm, pleasant knives on Chad's shoulders as they slip a little, and Ryan takes a miniscule step back. "Oh, god. This is about that...that yearbook thing, isn't it?"
Chad suddenly feels incredibly stupid, incredibly childish. "What are you talking about?"
Ryan frowns. Chad is no actor.
"I guess I did something stupid, didn't I? Look, Chad, if I'd known--"
Time to change the subject. "You never told me how...important you are. I'm surprised a big man like you'd show up to a thing like this," Chad says, because he has no idea how to respond to Ryan's question. He tries to avoid thinking about that. He lets his tone slip into the icy bark he usually reserved for occasions when Troy had been especially dense. It is a tone years of normal hormone levels had chased from his system. "I mean, Manhattan? It's pretty far away."
Ryan is instantly crushed. Even so, he keeps his hands on Chad's arms, as though he's frozen there. "But...I wanted to be back. I mean, I thought you wouldn't be here--but...you are, I was hoping you would be, and..." He is slipping. Chad's never seen Ryan slip before.
Chad's jaw twitches, and he doesn't want to feel bad, but he does anyway. Why can't I grow up? he growls at himself. "Why didn't you visit earlier, then?"
"You never invited me," Ryan said dully, and Chad's never felt so stupid in his life.
"What do you mean, invited you? You don't need me to--you know I miss you, but you never said--"
"Ryan?" someone asks hesitantly from over Chad's shoulder, and Ryan releases Chad reluctantly, fingers tracing Chad's arms. He replaces that infernal kicked dog expression with one of polite welcome. His hands tuck themselves away in his pockets, biceps flexing with a ripple visible beneath his shirt sleeves, and he is so very strong now.
Chad frowns as Ryan demands with careful cheer, "Virgil! Wow, what're you doing here?"
Mike is tactful. Chad appreciates this about him. It's up to Chad whether or not Mike will be introduced to Ryan as Chad's boyfriend.
Ryan's face falls when Chad is unable to say anything at all, opting instead to place his hand gently in Mike's, staring at the white linoleum of the cafeteria floor.
"Wow, Mike," Ryan says at length, right before plastering on his company smile. "Really? This guy? You know he's a terrible dancer."
Chad looks up then, and sees the Ryan he defeated in the baseball game staring back at him regretfully, and it's almost enough to make him consider doing whatever crazy thing Ryan wanted, to let Ryan try and make up for not fulfilling a promise that should never have mattered in the first place.
Instead, Chad turns to talk to Troy about his son, and ignores Ryan completely.
**
Year Five, May
In Galveston, it is not difficult to find a job with a degree in physical conditioning. It helps, of course, to have the proper certification to give massages--Chad has this, luckily--and he quickly picks up a job with Celebration Cruise Line, earning twenty dollars an hour. He enjoys it most of the time; it can be a little tiring, working with cranky elderly people, but he has difficulty staying annoyed and grossed-out when he earns relaxed, languid smiles (and huge tips) from his customers at the end of each forty-five minute session.
He's travelled to Cancun, Brazil, Key West, and the Caribbean with Celebration and has met hundreds of exciting, interesting people. The boy he was all of those years ago in Albuquerque is little more than a collection of vague memories in his mind; squeaking tennis shoes and dusty outfields, Troy Bolton's crinkle-eyed laugh, and the Krylon-dust combination stink of Darbus's detentions. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror and sees the broad-shouldered, soft-eyed stare of a former youth basketball coach turned masseuse, he wonders what it would be like to have a dancer beside him, all shiny apple cheeks and fluid movement and sarcastic humor. He's had one girlfriend since leaving Albuquerque to try and fill the blank spaces in his life--Champ was her name, a Bio major at A&M, who liked to kick his butt at tennis but rooted for the Lakers of all people--but he's always known a girl isn't really what he is looking for; has ever looked for. Mike still teases him for that mistake, and still insists that when Ryan tells Chad he misses him and wishes he could visit, he means it.
Chad wonders what's kept Ryan from doing just that; when he's feeling sensible, he knows it is rare for people to survive cross-country friendships, and he's already got about three others. After all, it's not as though he's flying to Manhattan to see Pink Panther: The Musical, so he knows it's all relative. Unfortunately, feeling sensible when it came to Ryan wasn't something most people did very easily.
They've been playing phone tag for months, and nothing of any importance has ever been said.
Chad doesn't give up hope, though. Ryan still has three days until he's broken his promise. I miss high school sometimes, you know? Home...Albuquerque...and all that...let's play baseball next time I see you. I haven't done that in years an old voice mail message of Ryan's repeats inside his head; the message had to be six months old now, and Chad knows he can't really be serious about visiting him, (he isn't even in Albuquerque, and Ryan missed Albuquerque, not Galveston) but...secretly, Chad hopes Ryan won't break his promise.
**
Year Five, April
He is a little saddened when he learns that Ryan has been chosen to participate in a graduate fellowship from NYU's theatre department, though he isn't surprised. "He's thrilled, I bet," says Chad, stirring his grasshopper. He wishes he had Gabby or Taylor to talk to, but Mike's not so bad, really.
Manhattan is awfully far away not to miss May 12th.
"Oh, by the way..." Mike bends to pick something up; it's a box wrapped in creamy, softly crinkled tissue paper, "since you never bothered to give Ryan your new apartment's proper address, he sent this to me. It's a Christmas present, I think."
"But it's April. I only moved a week ago," Chad says, trying to keep the excitement from making his hands shake as he takes the box. The milky tissue reminds him of Ryan's throat and the delicate skin of his inner elbows; he misses him terribly all of a sudden, and wonders why he never appreciated any of this while they were together in high school.
"Hmm," Mike shrugs. "Maybe it's a housewarming gift."
"That's cool," Chad says with calculated calmness.
"He actually wants that address of yours, by the way," Mike adds casually, tactfully ignoring the joy that splashes across Chad's face. "He might be able to talk to you if, you know, he writes to you or something."
"I'll call him tonight," says Chad, and it's clear he's been considering sharing this information with Ryan for a long, long time. Mike just smiles, ruffles his hair, and asks casually about the love interests he knows Chad doesn't have.
**
Year Four
In Galveston time passes slowly; Chad likes it that way. In Fall, he will be celebrating his third year as a Galveston resident, fourth as a high school graduate. He moved away from Albuquerque one year after graduation, and now, suddenly, he's finished general education and is well on his way to a bachelor's degree.
Chad has always loved sports, and it is no surprise to anyone that he has chosen to pursue a degree in physical education. It did surprise his mother somewhat, however, when he told her he'd chosen to play for Texas A&M instead of U-of-A.
"Baby," she had asked him over the phone on the morning he'd received his acceptance letter, "I thought this Texas thing...I thought it was a phase, you know?"
"It is," Chad lied with a sigh, pajama'd legs perched on swamp cooler that regulated the temperature in his old, moldy apartment.
He thinks of the conversation as he stares out over the island he's come to love so much, over the old winding roads and ancient houses and tourist traps, and he finally rests his gaze on the grand old theatre where he will watch Cabaret later that evening. He imagines a little blond prancing around the stage, and worries at how accepting he's become of the arts. Ryan keeps insisting he'll be performing in Chad's city someday. Chad remembers thinking it might've been true back when his mother would call him to come home, but he doesn't know if it's true anymore. He wants it to be.
"I just gotta stay for a little longer, mama," was what he'd told his mama, trying to sound like he didn't really enjoy the idea of staying in Galveston for the rest of his life. He can't really imagine going "home" anymore, now.
"Why?" his mother's voice had been glorified static on his cellular phone, but her sadness was clear as though they were talking face to face. "What're you waiting for?"
No matter how many times his mother asked, he never answered, and now she doesn't even bother. She's seen the hat hanging from the pegs above his phone charger.
**
Year Three, June
"Heya, Ducks," Chad says, and grins. "Wondering when I'd hear from you again!"
"Chad! So Shar and I were talking, and I was thinking, what if I come visit you next week?"
Chad's heart pounds in his ears. "Really? When?"
"I don't know--how about if we fly in Tuesday? Expedia's got tickets killer cheap."
"Tuesday? I gotta work Tuesday," Chad says fretfully.
Ryan lets out a strained puff of air. "Oh, well...okay. So what're you up to? Still thinking of growing out your hair?"
"Yeah," Chad says, wrapping a finger around a lock of the stuff and yanking it. It springs back and hits him in the cheek.
"Cool. Maybe I'll see them soon. Then I can make fun of you for real."
"Oh, yeah. Eagerly anticipating that."
**
"Hiya, Chad," says the answering machine. "Sorry--change of plans; I can't fly over. I've got call-backs for Zanna; can you believe it? Anyway... I guess I'll call your cell, okay?" A pause. "Maybe next time. I'm...sorry. I really wanted to make fun of your hair."
Beep! says the answering machine. It continues in a mechanical voice, Tuesday, June 22nd, 5:02 pm.
Chad does not hear the message; he's just left for the airport.
**
It's alright, he thinks to himself with a sigh, flipping his cell phone shut on Ryan's voicemail message. At least he'll come back for that stupid yearbook thing.
**
Year Two, April
In Galveston, people who live around town know each other fairly well despite the large city tourist-trap feeling of the place, and Chad adapts to the lifestyle fairly quickly, even with everyone in town knowing his business. In Galveston, people are kind to him no matter who he decides he is, what he decides people who write in Sakura Jelly Roll pen really mean to him when he doesn't hear from them after too long and can't stop counting down the days until May 12th. (It does help, of course, that Mrs. Evans gave such a glowing review of him to the Texas A&M Board of Collegiate Athletics.)
Chad's first real friend in Galveston is a wealthy realtor's nephew named Mike Virgil. Chad befriends him first because he is a basketball enthusiast and a contributor to the University where Chad plays, secondly because he's been out of the closet for years and helps mentor him when things get rough, and thirdly because he's a personal family friend of the Evanses who keeps him informed as to what the Evans "children" do with their time when Ryan gets too busy to call him.
"Be careful of Mike," Ryan says over the phone after a particularly horrible rehearsal.
"Why?" Chad asks, because Mike, with his rugged good looks and messy dirty blond hair, reminds him of super heroes and golden retriever puppy dogs and Slip 'n' Slides and All-Am-ur-i-cun hotdog cook-outs on the fourth of July. He tells Ryan as much.
Ryan goes oddly quiet. "Because he's a real estate agent," Ryan replies at length. "That's only, like, one step down from a lawyer."
"What do you have against real estate agents?" Chad laughs, and curls his toes over the lip of a packing box.
"Superheroes and golden retrievers and hotdog cook-outs," Ryan says cryptically, and Chad can envision the pout he's wearing perfectly.
**
Year Two, May
"Manhattan? Um, that's an awfully long ways away, Evans," Chad says, wrapping the phone chord around his wrist.
Ryan laughs heartily. "Oh, come on. I'm just applying. It's not like a package deal or anything. NYU has one of the best theatre programs in the US. Like I'll get in on the first try."
Chad rolls his eyes, picks up his mini basketball, and swishes it through his hoop. "Yeah, whatever. You'll get in, and then I'll never see you again." He says this with utmost confidence. "That's cool. Do what you want."
Ryan is silent for a moment, and then asks jokingly, "What, you miss me that badly?"
Chad laughs, because duh. "No. I'm just worried I'll never meet anyone as easy to pick on as you again."
Ryan laughs too, but he sounds weird when he hangs up the phone.
**
Year Two, September
Chad, says his answering machine, I didn't get in...I think it was my grades or something. I want to come see you. God...what a crappy night. Nobody here knows how to pick on me like you do, so obviously I feel like crap. Yeah. Call me, or I really won't come an visit you, and you'll have to settle for...kicking preschoolers or something.
Chad calls him back three times. Ryan never answers.
**
Year One, May
"This is our one year anniversary," Ryan slurs on the phone, and Chad's knuckles go white on the edges of the box he is unpacking.
"Our what?"
"Our one year anniversary," Ryan goes on, and laughs loudly when something sprays the phone. Chad has to duck his head.
"The one year anniversary of what, man?" Chad asks, even though he thinks he knows.
"You know, of that kiss!" Ryan declares, and somebody beside him screams WHAT KISS? loud enough that Chad can hear it.
"You remember that?" Chad laughs, and feels woefully inadequate. He stares out of his window over the streets below, and catches sight of The Blue Marlin sign.
"Um, duh! I'd only been waiting for that since, like, Junior year!"
Chad's heart pounds in his ears.
"Don't you remember?" comes Ryan's plaintive reply.
Chad tries to say something. "Yeah--I remember, because I almost crushed Gabby and Troy before...before."
Ryan guffaws, and it's totally unlike him. "Ha! Yeah. Well, maybe we ought to forget it." Chad's heart sinks. Ryan's voice is so musical, even when he's plastered. "But yeah, Chad, huh? Good old Galveston!"
"Yeah," Chad says, and gazes out fondly over the street, remembering. "Good old Galveston."
**
Year One, August
He catches sight of Ryan watching him from where he's skimming stuff out of his parent's pool. Ryan smiles softly, flicking a curl out of Chad's eyes, and he wonders why nobody's brought up that stupid kiss yet.
He wishes Ryan would just let him repeat it.
**
Year Six, January
"You're still here," Ryan says, coming to sit on the driveway. He is holding a cigarette. When he offers it to Chad, Chad gives him a face like he's about to hit him.
Ryan sits beside him, wrapping his arms around one knee like he used to when he was in high school. "So," he says, smoke drifting lazily from between his lips. "Things going well with you and Mike?"
"No," Chad answers dryly, and Ryan can't help but notice the way his cheekbones have developed, his dreadlocks framing them perfectly.
"I like this look for you," Ryan says. "You look...very beach-y."
Chad is dubious, and he takes another drink from the bottle he's holding. "Ryan," he says, "if you're not going to say something that matters, go away."
"It doesn't matter that I like your hair now?" Ryan asks, forcing a smile.
Chad groans. "You told me that three years ago on Facebook. They haven't changed. And no, it doesn't matter to me right now."
Ryan recoils, stunned, but the look passes, and he relaxes into an easy sprawl. "You know, you never did invite me over. I'd want to see you and you'd just say some stupid thing about my voice, or my major, or my duck colle--"
"Ryan," Chad says, and shoots him a look that could melt steel, "you know I wanted you to come. You know I missed you."
"So did I," Ryan says with the barest hint of aggravation. "I told you that over and over."
"And then you stopped answering my phone calls," Chad pressed on, and it's the most honest and open he's ever been.
Chad waits for it, for Ryan's reply, but he doesn't give one.
"Yeah," Chad says, gathering himself to stand, and managing it just barely. "That's what I thought. Now where's Mike?"
Ryan's eyes harden. "Avoiding you, Chad, and I can understand why."
"Of course you can," Chad growls. "It's what you're best at."
**
Year Six, February
Chad rubs the sleep out of his eyes, blinking at the e-card Mike has just opened.
"Hiya Chadders!" It yells in a static-obscured voice that sounds similar to something he'd have recorded on his childhood Talk Boy. I just wanted to let you know that I avoided you because I've been trying to get over you since we were Juniors in high school. Maybe if you'd said anything, I would've told you!" Chad stares at the screen, filled with hearts and chocolates and stupid little blond cupids. "But you know, I bet you don't care about that either. Maybe if I'd written it in your yearbook, you would've paid more attention. But, oh well, you didn't! Happy Valentine's Day!"
The sound cuts out, and Mike and Chad are left staring at the hearts and roses and popping pink bubbles in mild horror.
"That was...pure Sharpay," is all Chad can manage.
"I told you so," Mike snaps, and stalks off to play the jealous...whatever he is to Chad now in their kitchen.
**
Year Six, May
Dear Chad, the email reads, Arial font blocky black formality,
I'm sorry we have been out of contact for so long. Please read this. Things here are fine. I'm writing because the new show opens next week. I wrote it, and Sharpay is directing it. It's sort of a big deal. Will you be in Galveston to see it? I hope you are. It's about baseball!
Mike said you are having trouble and he thinks maybe I can fix it. I'm sorry about that email thing...that was really uncalled for. I guess you're still upset about me missing our plans. I'm sorry. I was worried you would think it was a stupid high school thing like you thought people signing your year book was stupid and thought dancing was stupid. Why is everything stupid to you Chad? Anyway I'm sorry that I was wrong. I meant all of what I wrote to you, even though I can't remember what I said. Maybe I still shouldn't have written it. If I knew you were serious about wanting me to visit you, I would have, but then you went out with that girl and then Mike and I didn't want to ruin things for you. I really have been trying to get over you since high school. And also, you're not very good at this long-distance friendship thing if you don't mind me saying so all of this drama aside.
The play opens at 7:00 on Friday, May 20. Please meet me in front of The Blue Marlin at 5:30 because we are having dinner first. Dress nicely. Or don't. Nobody will care that matters. Anyway I can't go without a date and since Sharpay is engaged now I can't exactly take her. Also you're the only date I want anyway. She told me to write that. I am twenty-nine and I'm still listening to my sister boss me around. I hope you laughed at that last sentence.
Please be there. I will call tomorrow but it was too late to call tonight. Also, Sharpay will kill you if you don't say yes. You probably should.
Yours,
RE
**
Year Six, May
The second time Chad's phone rings he sets it to silent and wonders how much it will cost to switch to a new plan entirely.
Chad folds the latest letter, thinks briefly of Mike and his new man in Manhattan, and deliberates with his long-wounded pride.
He decides to call Troy. It's all he can think to do.
"Sounds like high school drama to me, Chad," Troy says, a bit unimpressed, and sounds remarkably like his father. "You're too old for this stuff."
Chad laughs, and wonders why nobody ever really outgrows this sort of thing. "What do I do?"
Troy pauses, and then laughs a little himself. "Just fix it."
"How?"
For a moment Troy says nothing. "Well, you could always...I don't know. Send him a video of you tap dancing naked. It'd get your point across."
Chad hangs up on him.
After a spine-crackling stretch, a glance out the window, and a yawn for good measure, Chad strolls into his bedroom, not bothering to switch on a light. He digs up an old cap from the pile of clothes in his dresser, places it on his head, and returns to the living room to make another phone call.
He doesn't have to, though. It is vibrating again.
"If this is all a clever ploy to get your hat back, you're six years too late," he offers as greeting. "I'm keeping your pants too, just to spite you."
"Chad, I--"
"So I'm inviting you over," Chad doesn't want to hear it, "since you obviously forgot all about visiting me on that stupid anniversary. I expect you to make it up to me."
"We have an anniversary?" Ryan asks, and his voice shakes for only a syllable or two.
"That's how you were looking at it the last time we actually talked about any of this," Chad says. "Of course, you were drunk off your butt."
Ryan laughs, and clearly he remembers exactly which conversation Chad is talking about. "Chad, if I knew we were still celebrating anniversaries, I wouldn't have had to beg you to take me back on your voicemail."
Chad smiles slowly, like he hasn't smiled in years.
**
Part 3