Troy Bolton moved out here, one thousand miles away from his parents, his childhood home, his best friend, everything he's ever known,
to attend Berkeley University and be close to his girlfriend. Thirty-two point seven miles closer to her, to be precise.
His apartment is small, in a way that can strike him as claustrophobic when he glances up from his Calc.
II homework, equations still whirling about his head, or comes up for air in the midst of studying Ayn Rand, and takes in the four walls surrounding him.
Without pictures lining every other surface, like they did back home, and paned double doors adjacent to his bed that open to a spacious backyard, the place feels less… personable.
Less welcoming. Almost kind of daunting.
Still, he does his best to make the space his own with his bedding from home, East High and basketball paraphernalia, acoustic guitar, and framed pictures of Gabriella.
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