If You Asked Me If I Loved Him, I'd Lie.

I was enjoying the delicate silence I had been missing out on since I received the phone call three weeks back, and it was lovely. My eyes focused on nothing as trees and the odd building rushed past to mix up with the blur of evening glow. I let go of a soft sigh, hoping that my parents didn’t hear and notice how much I was freaking out, but my sigh didn’t go disregarded.

“Honey, calm down, there is no reason to be nervous,” My father spoke calmly, raising his eyebrow at me through the revision mirror, before turning his attention back to the road.

“I’m not nervous,” I blatantly lied, turning away before I could see his disbelieving stare.

“Oh really? Then why are you tapping?” He was right of course, whenever I was nervous, I had a habit of tapping my finger nails against anything they came in contact with. This time it was the glass of the window that I was tapping, and it was obviously irritating my father. I removed my elbow from the arm rest, and intertwined my fingers together anxiously.

My father looked into the passenger seat to give my mother a look, the one that screams ‘HELP ME!’ and she turned around and gave me a good, hard look. Surprisingly, she had been quiet for the entire car trip, and it showed how worried she was about her only daughter leaving not only her, and her home country, but also leaving for a month to live in a country she had never been in before, and to also be in the public eye.

“Charlotte, you are going to be great! They are going to love you!” Instead of taking comfort in the warm words my mother provided, they only added to my ever-growing paranoia and fear.

“But mum! What if they don’t? What if the entire cast hates me? What if the media was right, that they are all stuck up, rude people and make my life hell? What if the director takes back what he said and would rather I wasn’t on the show? What if I stuff up?” So much for keeping my head. I had been trying to act collected, to only flip out in the privacy of my own mind, but I couldn’t stop the words from flowing.

My mother turned in her seat and reached out her hand to sit firmly on top of mine, squeezing it gently as she smiled slowly.

“Charlie, if you didn’t deserve a spot on that show, you wouldn’t have it. You know you deserve that spot, and you bet out a heck of a lot of girls for it. This is your chance, and you shouldn’t endanger that by doubting yourself. As for the attitudes of the cast, well, the media mixes words and jumbles the truth; you can never trust that fabrication. Just be yourself, and you’ll soon be having the time of your life,” My mother said, her pep talks always helped in situations like this, when my overacting bad habit flares up.

I nodded slowly, then pretended to busy myself with untangling my headphones and finding a song on my iPod, but one sole question burned into my head, how can I be myself, when I don’t know who that is?

Here I was, about to start every girl’s childish dream, and I was stumbling on the fringes, ‘um-ing’ and ‘ah-ing’ over what would lie ahead. Three weeks ago, I received a phone call from the Disney producers of the television show ‘Sonny With A Chance’, who informed me that I had won the chance to play a temporary role on the second season of ‘Sonny With A Chance’. Only problem was, I had never entered.

It turned out that Tom, my mother’s brother or my uncle, was a friends with one of the Disney producers and had shown him a couple of my You Tube videos and recordings of plays I was in, and together, the two of them entered me in, only for me to win.

Of course, I was ecstatic at the time. Who wouldn’t be after being handed the chance to star in your favourite television show? But then came the clouds the shadowed my happiness, the problems that flowed in faster than they could be sorted out.

I was born and raised in New Zealand, a tiny little country at the bottom of the world, and much too far away from where ‘Sonny With A Chance’ was being filmed, and where I needed to be. Both of my parents were full-time workers, and couldn’t afford any time off, and I had no-one to go to America with, and nowhere to stay.

Just when things were looking as bleak as I could possibly imagine they could be, my uncle Tom swooped in and offered that I stayed with him for the month that I had to be in America for filming. It was so brilliant, and I could feel my hope and excitement return, until my father suddenly realised what was happening. He suddenly opposed to the idea of his only daughter going to America, to be publicized on television for millions to see. He began to fret over the idea of me being caught up in the Hollywood buzz and becoming someone I shouldn’t.

Eventually, it came down to a promise. I had to promise I wouldn’t turn out like any of them, I just got in there, did my thing, and would come back home again, how I left. My father even went so far as to write me up a contract, and I remember laughing at how silly he was being over the whole situation, though I realised he was just a father, with a grown up daughter he was afraid to lose forever.

That leaves me here, sitting in the back of my parents rattling Rav, only minutes away from the airport and then I’d be on my own, flying toward what could be the start of everything. Now, if that’s not enough pressure, I don’t know what is.

My arms curled themselves around my waist as my stomach began to rock violently with the nerves, and I suddenly had the urge to let go of my breakfast. I tried to cool my burning forehead by leaning it against the glass of the window, but to no avail. My mind was all over the place, but staying consistent in the area that screamed, I can’t do this! Even the music of We Shot The Moon couldn’t pull my attention away from my fear, where had all that excitement gone? It seemed to have been traded in for anxiety.

“We’re here!” Mum called out from the passenger seat, as if that would settle my heart rate, quite the opposite in fact. I was scared. Too scared. I tried to tell my parents this but they wouldn’t listen and my mouth wouldn’t speak the words I needed to say, and all too soon, my plane was ready to board and it was time to say goodbye.

Mum was first, fluffing around, fixing up my hair and outfit and trying hard not to shed a tear.

“Now, you listen to your uncle Tom, and he’ll take care of you. He damn well better, he is the one that got you into this mess! Just... just go out there and show everyone what you can do, okay? I love you,” My mother mumbled, her face shiny with tears she had tried to boycott, and wrapped me up in arms, giving me a moment of normality.

“Well, Charlotte, you remember the promise?” My father asked stiffly, and I nodded. He hugged me quickly, before turning away and sniffing deeply. With one last glance, it was time to leave and time to say goodbye to New Zealand, my home, and hello to Disney and everything that brings with it.