The Best of Fish Worlds

Chapter One

It was tough living the life of Troy Bolton, basketball star of East High, even though everyone else seemed to think he had it made. Day in and day out of everyone's expectations of him just made him feel more and more... alone. He was in a state of emotional turmoil. His crimson brow furrowed in frustration. His parents and all the other grownups would never understand.

Troy grasped a golf club in his tanned arms and paused his dancing for a moment to whack a golf ball on the ground beside him. He watched as it soared through the air, and he felt a longing deep inside him. A longing to be as free as the golf ball sailing in the breeze above. "Gotta work on my swing, gotta do my own thing," he crooned in a fit of passion. Bet On It always gets him riled up like that.

The golf ball dropped into a nearby pond with a splash, sending ripples across the surface. It was then, as the water settled, that Troy realized his reflection could provide a dramatic image that conveys his inner anguish. He glided down to the edge of the pond and squatted to gaze at himself. He was right. The duality of the reflection mirrored his fragmented self, torn between his friends and his future. "It's no good at all to see yourself and not recognize your face," he sang, "out on my own is such a scary place." Troy felt utterly lost.

Suddenly, a webbed hand rose out of the water and dropped a golf ball on the rocks. Troy nearly fell back but managed to keep his composure. He pushed a strand of his luxurious mocha hair off his face and leaned forward, intrigued. "What was that?" he wondered out loud.

Peering into the depths of the pond, Troy looked for the hand's owner and realized that he might not be out on his own after all. He smiled. Troy waited for what seemed like an eternity for the owner of the hand to surface, and just when he was about to leave and go back to dancing, the water in front of him began to stir.

Before Troy could react, a figure slowly rose from the pond. Troy was paralyzed. Looming over him was an imposing creature Troy could hardly begin to describe. He was almost human but there was something off about him. His skin was a voluptuous navy blue, but his chest glistened the color of deep parchment. Elegant fins and scaly grooves covered the length of his sculpted body, with twin pecs that were like the headlights on a Ford Model-T. The creature's piercing eyes were framed by a labyrinth of pristine turquoise and gold markings, and he had to be at least eight inches taller than Troy, who was five foot eight. Troy was terrified. He had never seen a fish before, much less a fish man!

The fishman's face was curled into a vicious snarl. Troy could tell he meant business. Troy was about to turn around and bolt when he realized that the fishman's threatening demeanor was just a facade. He may have been acting intimidating, but it was to hide that he was scared. Scared to fall in love.

"Oh boy," Troy uttered. He had intended to say hi, but that was all he could muster.

Meanwhile, the fishman raised his hands in front of him and started to use sign language. "Here is your golf ball, Troy," he signed fluently and with no mistakes.

"Wait how did you know my name?" Troy replied in sign language. Good thing he knew sign language because of the sign language classes his mom has made him take since he was 10, every Thursday.

Without skipping a beat, the fishman signed a bashful reply. "I guess I pay attention." Hearing that made Troy's heart flutter. The fishman blushed and continued to gesticulate. "So I was watching you from the murky depths of my pond earlier and I have got to say, I really like your dancing and your knees."

Troy blushed, his face turning a deep crimson. "Thanks so much. The dancing is just something I do when I feel frustrated with my stupid parents and with the world."

"Yeah," the fishman interjected, "Your parents just don't get you. Not like I do."

"Bet. Thanks for complimenting my knees. They have to be in top shape for basketball."

The fishman was confused. "Basketball?" he signed confusedly.

Troy's response was swift and passionate. "Holy cannoli! You've never played basketball? It's only the greatest sport ever! You have GOT to come shoot some hoops with me some time."

The fishman smiled. "Yeah, I guess I'd be down." He looked into Troy's eyes, his gaze lingering for a second too long. Troy noticed the fishman staring.

"So," Troy added to break the tension that was so thick it could be cut with a knife, "I guess I'll see you then?" The fishman nodded profusely.

"Goodbye, Troy the Basketball Boy," the fishman added and dove into the water before Troy could respond.

Troy was taken aback. What did that hunk just call him? Troy hated nicknames. Who else but the fishman? He was always doing crazy things like that. He's so cool that way. Troy blushed at the thought. He knew he had to tell his best friend Hannah Montana about the fishman. She was a world famous pop icon, so this would probably be no big deal for her.

He turned and walked off the golf course, but not before finishing his soulful rendition of Bet On It by screeching, "You can bet on me."