Flutter

Cause these things will change
Can you feel it now?
These walls that they put up
To hold us back will fall down
-Change by Taylor Swift

May 29, 2010
8:30 PM
Dallas Cowboys Arena-Arlington, TX

I couldn’t speak. No, worse then that. I couldn’t move. That is, until Rosie punched me in the shoulder.

“Ow!” I squealed, grabbing my arm. I looked at her. She looked at me. Her eyes were the size of tea saucers. And for the first time I noticed that every person in the arena, sans my little sister, who still had no idea what was going on, was looking at me. Well, me and Molly. I felt blood rushing to my cheeks, and before I could do anything, Rosie was pushing me towards the awaiting arms of the tan, bald security guard near the stage, who directed myself and Molly towards a set of stairs I hadn’t noticed before. And we were being ushered towards where Ann stood, a wide smile on her face. I glanced at my parents out of the corner of my eyes, and both of them were ginning. Not shocked, like they were surprised. But they, along with Mrs. Hart, had knowing grins on their faces. Proud, too. I couldn’t help but feel a little trickle of betrayal in the pit of my stomach.

They knew! They knew something was going to happen! And my parents knew how much I hated public scenes! I could sing and read out loud all I wanted, but when it came to performing plays or improving or just plain public speaking, I couldn’t do it. I would get sick. Or I’d get a stress eczema flare. Neither one I wanted at that moment. Ann pulled us both into huge hugs, and then ushered us towards the three boys waiting behind her. I could feel my face getting redder and redder as Molly and I hugged Kevin, Joe, and finally Nick. All three were quick, followed by a muttered “nice to meet you.”

Proved my theory that that didn’t remember me, I guess. As I hugged Nick, avoiding any sort of eye contact for fear that my face would soon match the color of my hair, I looked out to the audience. I could vaguely make out the shocked and horrified faces of Marisa and her posse, and I couldn’t help but smirk. This was, again, too perfect. People had always told me that karma would always come back and bite them in the ass, and I’d believed that, but not that it would happen in such a big way like this. We were directed to go back to where Ann was standing, and we stood on either side of her.

“Looks like we surprised them,” she said, and some people out in the crowd laughed. “So, for the duration of the tour, these two girls will be your inside source to the world of Jonas. We’re going to set up blogs on the Seventeen website, and each month we’ll have a piece on them in the magazine, starting with next month. Right now they’re gonna go back stage until the end of the show, but I’m sure you’ll be hearing more from them soon.” I couldn’t do anything. I was still in shock. ME? On tour with the JONAS BROTHERS?? And then, we were lead off stage and through the crowd to a hallway in the back of the arena. I glanced back to see our parents and friends following us, and before I knew it, we were dragged into a dressing room with a bunch of couches, seats and beanie bags. I collapsed onto a couch next to Molly.

This was all way too much to process. My parents obviously knew something about this-they wouldn’t have willingly driven us to the arena had they not. Same with Molly’s mom. This explained the four suitcases she’d said they had in the back of their car. I sat, thinking for a few moments…this was…well this was huge. I know, I know, I’d never really been a fan. But to be put in a situation like this…to go on tour with guys who’d been nominated for GRAMMIES. Freaking Grammies! That’s insane. And much less, to go on tour to do something I love; to write. Well that was just a miracle in and of its self.

Rosie was seated on my other side, with Jess on Molly’s, and our parents were scattered across the room-my dad and Libs were in beanie bags on the floor. The door opened and closed again, and two people walked in-Ann, and a guy I thought I recognized, but couldn’t be sure, who was dressed in a blue button up, jeans and a dark leather vest.

“I’m sorry for the shock,” Ann said, taking a step towards us. “It’s so nice to finally meet you girls! We’re been looking forward to this for quite some time!” Somehow, I found my voice.

“It’s great to meet you,” I said, shaking her outstretched hand. The three others on the couch followed suit. “You’ve been one of our heroes for as long as I can remember.” She visibly blushed, but didn’t say anything about it, and just introduced the man standing next to her.

“This is Paul, the boys’ dad.” She gestured towards him and he stuck his hand out to shake like she had, only not to me, but to my dad. That’s how I knew him! He was their dad! He’d been on the road with them from the start! I’d recognized him because I’d met him too. All those years ago, with Amy. He was their dad and manager.

“Oh, yes, we talked to you on the phone,” Mrs. Hart said, speaking for the first time since we’d gotten into the room. She shook her blonde curls-not unsimilar to her daughter’s own-over her shoulder, and shook Paul’s hand. When she said this, she gave a glance and a smile to my mum and dad, who smiled back. After the parents, he gave a warm smile to us on the couch.

“My boys have been so excited to have you on tour!” he said cheerily. This guy was very excitable. I knew we would get along well. Seemed to always be smiling, like me. “My wife is as well! She’s been going on and on to Demi and her mother about how they needed more estrogen on the tour! And here we go! I’m sorry she couldn’t be here to meet you right now,” he finished, with a wave towards the door. “But she’s out watching the concert like she does every night. She’ll be in with the boys as soon as the show’s over. But,” he glanced down at Libby, where she sat next to Dad. “I think I know a little boy who wants someone to play Webkinz with. And I see that you’re a fan too.” She looked quickly down at the pink unicorn in her hands, and then back up at Mrs. Jonas

“Webbykins?” she asked, batting her eyelashes (super long and full, thanks to my dad’s side of the family). She has an issue pronouncing things sometimes, from simple words like “spoon” to more complicated ones. But Mum nodded, none the less, and Mr. Jonas opened the door to reveal a small boy who looked about Libby’s age, maybe a bit older, holding a dark brown horse stuffed animal. His eyes brightened visibly when he saw Libs, and they ran down the hall, followed closely by a light haired woman, who I assumed was the babysitter or something.

“So easily entertained,” Rosie muttered, shaking her head. Everyone broke out into laughter, and for the first time in the last half hour, things felt relatively normal.

It was a good hour-maybe hour and fifteen minutes-before the door opened again. I expected it to be Libby, tired and sleepy and ready to go home-it was, after all, past her bedtime. But the door opened, and the first person that walked in was not someone I recognized completely. She was followed, however, by a gaggle of people that I did recognize.

“You did fine on your spin, Kev!” the first girl in called, slinging her arm around Kevin and pecking him on the lips. This must be his wife, Danielle, I thought to myself.

“I know, I know…I just…could have done better!” The couple was followed in by another one, equally as gushy. Joe and Demi walked in, hand in hand. Demi was smiling, and had a single bead of sweat trailing down the side of her face- a sign of recent, but not a lot-of exertion. Joe, however, was completely and totally soaked. I glanced at Molly when I felt her tense next to me. She was holding her breath. I elbowed her in the side, and she elbowed me back. Twice as hard.

“Ouch!” I let out a little yelp, scooching away. The two couples already in the room, along with two women who were coming in after them with Nick, the last one to enter, all stopped what they were doing. And then, the hugging ensued.

“Ohmigosh!” Demi was the first one to actually speak, and she rushed towards me, pulling me off the couch. “I thought I recognized you when I saw you on the big screen! I saw your blog and everything, but I couldn’t tell…” she said in rushed Italian, and pulled me into one of her bone crushing hugs I got once every few years, at the occasional birthday party or wedding-last time we’d hung out in person was Cody’s brother’s wedding in March the year before. When we pulled away, I could see Mrs. Jonas (or, who I assumed was Mrs. Jonas. The other woman was Diana De La Garza, Demi’s mom) introducing herself to my parents, followed closely by all of the boys. Mrs. De La Garza pulled my mom into the same hug Demi had pulled me into, and then hugged my dad too.

“Do they know about…?” I replied in the same language, then made a mock microphone in my hand and mimed singing, gesturing towards where Ann and everyone else were standing. Demi shook her head.

“I haven’t mentioned anything-neither has my mom. I just told Ann and Denise that we knew you from when we were kids-nothing about acting or music or anything. I figured you’d want that to be up to you to tell.” And this, ladies and gentlemen, is why I love Demi Lovato. She knows when not to meddle.

“And you and Joe?” I asked, raising my eyebrows. I’d heard about it, and we’d briefly discussed it over a rushed IM chat a few months before, but we hadn’t really had a chance to talk about it or anything. Demi visibly blushed, and then mumbled “We’ll talk about it later.”

“Quit talking in Italian!” someone whined. I looked over Demi’s shoulder at Joe, and he was pouting. “Since when does she speak Italian, anyways?” Joe gave me a look, and I threw a pointed glance over towards my dad, who was talking to Mr. Jonas.

“I speak four languages-English, Italian, French and Sign.”

“Our mom speak sign language!” Nick said happily. “She used to teach at a deaf school before we went on tour.” I smiled.

“I used to help out in the deaf program at my old school. My older sister-she’s partially deaf, so we learned through her.” And then my mother was calling me over, so I told everyone I’d be back. Demi took this as her cue, and went over to Molly, who, like I had, started speaking Italian. She knew all the languages I did, plus a little Russian from an old friend. She’d learned French at the same primary school I had in England-though I’d been learning the watered down version at my American high school-and her knowledge in sign came with some online courses she’d taken after finding out how useful it was in the work place. Her Italian came from what she’d picked up from me, as well as her grandmother, who was part Italian.

“We don’t shake hands in this family,” I overheard Mrs. Jonas saying. I turned around and she, her husband (who’d told us to call him Papa Jonas) and my parents were talking. “Just the girls we were looking for,” she said, ushering Molly and I over. “It’s so good to meet you. I’m Denise, but you can call me Mama Jonas.” We were both pulled into a fierce hug, and then she started talking almost as fast as I do. “We don’t really have much time to chat tonight. Just about half an hour. We all have a relatively early call time tomorrow.” She smiled at my mum. “But go chat with my boys for now. We’ll give you the itinerary later.” She pushed us towards where Rosie, I’m surprised to say, was already chatting with the boys and Danielle. Demi was starting a conversation with my mom.

“Uhhh,” I said, plopping down on a beanie bag next to Rosie. “Hi.”

“We finally officially meet,” Joe said, sticking out his hand for the first handshake I’ve received all night. “You have no idea how much Demi has been talking about you lately. It’s like you two were raised together or something.” I fought a blush, and glanced at Rosie, who smiled.

“Yeah, we were pretty tight growing up.” I picked at the laces on my boot, and looked up to see everyone staring at me. “What?”

“You’re so calm,” Danielle said plainly, nodding to all of us. “None of you are doing the whole super fan thing. You know, the…” She coughed, adjusting her voice to a high pitched, girly squeal. “’OHMIGOD IT’S THE JONAS BROTHERS’ thing.”

“I guess you could say,” Molly started, smiling. “That we don’t really freak out over celebrities. I mean, on the outside. On the inside, I think both of us are a little freaked out. I mean, we’re going on tour with you guys. This is CRAZY. We still have no idea how this even happened.”

“That’s where I can explain,” Ann said, coming to sit on the arm of the couch next to Nick, who offered her his seat and took a beanie next to me. The room got relatively quiet. That is, until the door burst open and four guys barreled in, followed by Kat. Before I could say anything, however, I was pulled off the couch and into a huge bear hug, much like Demi’s, only this time, with four stinky, smelly guys.

“Oh my God, guys, get off! You smell!” I screamed, batting at them.

“You know you love it!” Tanner, the lead singer and Guitarist of Disco Curtis said, making a motion I was pretty sure covered my brand new dress in sweat.

“Ew ew ewwwwwww.” I pushed him off of me, and he burst into laughter with everyone else, which I eventually joined in. Once it died down, and after the three other girls with me had been hugged (Molly ran the Louisiana Street Team, like I helped with the Texas one, and both Rosie and Jess had helped out on numerous occasions, as previously mentioned), I slapped Brendan, the bassist, on the arm.

“Ouchhh, what was that for,” he asked, grabbing his arm. I rolled my eyes.

“For not telling me, no, ANYONE, that you were going on tour with the Jonas Brothers!” I said loudly, eyeballing each of the boys in turn. All of them have their own unique personalities. Tanner (just turned 19-we had a party at their hometown show at the Door in Dallas), the lead singer, was the classic scener-long(ish) hair, tight, yellow skinny jeans and band shirts, the occasional bout of eyeliner. But he was a total sweetheart, and hand an amazing appreciation for music in any form. Garrett (19), the guitarist, was a straight up nerd. He wore skinny jeans, yeah, but he donned glasses most of the time, and loved vests and button ups more than anything. A.J. (19), the drummer, was a classic rocker. Looser denim, leather jacket, the works. And Brendan (17) was closest to my age. I’d known him since we were kids, as he and I had attended the same Dallas-based summer camp for musicians as Demi and I. He was a mixture of all of the other three-a rocker with some punk and nerd thrown in, kind of like myself. He, along with the other boys in the band, knew I could sing, but I’d previously sworn them to secrecy when they’d attempted to get me to help them do a cover of Lily Allen’s The Fear at one of their little club shows in January.

“I’m sorry,” he said, truly looking it. “We weren’t allowed to tell you. You have no idea how hard it was not telling you when we were texting this morning.”

“So this is where you were?” I asked, confused. “You weren’t at Traci’s, you were here?” They all nod. Kat and I exchanged a few words before Ann interrupted.

“Back to what I was saying,” Ann started. “It’s like I said on stage, we wanted to send someone on tour. It is the last one, and the inside scoop on something like this would bring major revenue to our magazine. We found your blogs when we started looking around the teen online writing world-we first came across your stories, Mickie.” I blushed and looked down.

“Stories?” Demi asked, confused. She had no idea I wrote stories; only the blog.

“We write short stories and fan fiction,” I said, looking down. And lyrics, I added in my head. But of course, the only people in this room who’d ever read my lyrics were the three girls next to me, the members of Disco Curtis and Demi.

“And soon after,” Ann continued, “we found Molly’s. Both of you have a very mature writing style, way beyond your ages, and we knew we’d found the girls we were looking for. We contacted your parents a little over a month ago.” We both looked at our parents, and they looked, if anything, a little sinister. Damn them.

“And what exactly is our role on this tour?” Molly asked, crossing her arms. “I mean, are we like reporters and only going to be allowed to go in certain areas, or are we going all Harriet the Spy and sneaking around, writing things down?”

“Obviously not the latter,” I whispered to her, laughing.

“Neither,” Ann replied, smiling. “You two are now part of the team. You’re not only reporters, but insiders and promoters. You’re going to be working backstage, learning the ropes of how the tours operate, and reporting back to Seventeen readers, as well as accompanying other members of the team to every event we could muster, including photoshoots and on set.” Molly and I looked at her.

“So we’re going to be with you, like, 25/7?” I asked, direction it towards the boys.

“Pretty much,” Kevin answered. So I was going to be the personal paparazzi of one of the most well known bands of all time? Why did I get the feeling this was going to be a very interesting summer?

It was about ten minutes before we left, saying a final goodbye to everyone. I asked my mom if we could peek at the itinerary she was holding, bound in a black leather portfolio (was that Coach?), but both she and Mrs. Hart refused to let us look at them. Apparently, Molly and Jess were bunking with us tonight, Mrs. Hart staying in the guest bedroom. We ended up falling asleep only an hour after we got home-we were all so exhausted from the busy night, that by the time my mom came to shake us awake in the living room (spread about on various pieces of furniture), none of us were fully rested yet. But she told us to get up, and be ready in thirty minutes. By the time we all ambled down the stairs, half asleep but relatively well dressed (Ponytail day! Gotta love ‘em), she had a plate of bacon and some blueberry toaster waffles (the best kind there are!) on the table, which we gobbled down before Jess, Molly, Rosie, Mom, Mrs. Hart and I loaded into the car. “Oh god, did someone call Robby?” I asked hurriedly, leaning up towards my mother. Robby was my youth pastor at our church, and I usually helped lead worship with him on Sunday Mornings, which that day was. Mum nodded.

“I told him about this last week.” Great, my youth leader knew more about this than I did. The rest of our questions went unanswered, but I watched signs and noted that we were heading back towards Dallas, downtown to be exact.

All this time, my phone had gone unanswered. Since last night, I’d just turned it off. The second we’d gotten home, Rosie, Molly and I had had our mobiles ringing non stop. It was, in a word, ridiculous. And the amount of text messages I’d received was just as numerous. The only call I’d answered was that of a mutual friend of mine and Rosie’s, Allan, who’d apparently not heard what had happened last night (but judging by their text messages, our girlfriends had), and he’d asked us to come over. We explained things and said maybe before we left we could hang out, but nothing was for sure.

“Where are we…?” Jess asked as we pulled into a large parking structure. We parked, and walked towards where my mom was leading us. When I saw where we were, my eyes widened. There was a small house next to the structure that I hadn’t noticed before, and there was a dark blue and white sign on the lawn. “What’s Blue Room Studio?”

“Only one of the best Salons in the state,” I said, flabbergasted. Why the HECK were we at Blue Room? The official salon of the Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders?! (Don’t ask me how I know that. I just do.) We followed our moms into the salon, and we were greeted, if I do say so myself, quite loudly.

“Ohhh, bella, bella!” A loud, tall, brunette woman came running towards us. “You must be the Smith party!” She gave my mother the most obvious wink humanly possible, and then laughed obnoxiously. I like this woman. Her accent sounded distinctly Italian, but mom beat me to the punch talking.

“That’s us!”

“Come this way!” The woman shoved us towards a back area where less people are, and asked us if we need anything. Drinks, a snack maybe? Both of the parents wanted coffee, and the four of us all asked for Diet Cokes. The house, I noticed, looks like just that on the inside, only instead of the usual furniture-couches, tables- there are salon chairs and mirrors in every room, with the odd TV or stereo (all playing the same jazzy music) strewn about. The lady came back with our drinks and started to rush Molly and I towards chairs. I gave my mom a look.

“Just trust them,” she said quietly. “They’ll explain.” Before I can ask the nice lady her name, two more girls came to stand behind us in the mirror.

“Hi!” the one behind Molly, a tall, perky blonde said, waving. “I’m Heather, and this is Michelle. I’m the blow dry tech.”

“And I’m the colorist,” the other one, Michelle, finishes, smiling equally as perkily. She’s on the shorter side, and brunette. Molly gave me a sideways glance in the mirror that said “WTF?” I shrugged back.

“What exactly are we…doing today?” I asked slowly. Both of them gave me a smile.

“Were giving you makeovers!” Michelle squealed. “Hair, skin, nails, brows, the works.” My eyes went wide, and I looked at Molly. She was just as shocked, and so were our friends.

“From who?” Molly questioned. “I mean, who’s paying for it?”

“Seventeen,” Heather said. “Since you’re going on tour with-

“Hem hem,” there was a loud cough, and I looked in the mirror to see Ann standing in the doorway. Heather blushed.

“Well, we figured a new look is just what you needed to start things off right.”

“All right!” Jess called, giving Rosie a high five. They were more excited than we were. This was going to be interesting.

Before we could say or do anything, both of us were dragged to washing tables, along with, to my surprise, Rosie and Jess.

“It’ll all make sense later,” Ann explained (not). We were washed, toweled and put back in chairs, and then…we were surrounded. People started talking to us all at once-Michelle asked me what make up I used, and then once I told her she said that I was one of the few people who seemed to know what I was doing, and that I should keep it the way it was, but maybe add a little bronzer. Heather came at me with a pair of tweezers, and I shrunk away. I liked my eyebrows; a lot. They defined who I was. I hated it when people had eyebrows so small you had to use a magnifying glass to see them. She said she was just going to shape them, not mess with the thickness, so while someone pulled the towel off my hair, I sat through the painful plucking. After she did that, she moved onto each of the girls next to me. Rosie was the only one who didn’t need a plucking; she always kept hers really neat and tidy. Michelle came back to me, and asked a question I almost couldn’t answer:

“What do you want to do to your hair?”

I should have been able to answer it easily. I should have said “Just a blow out, maybe a touch up.” But nooooo. I actually had to think. And what I thought was that I was sick of having to touch up my fire engine red hair, and the constant cutting of the always fried ends.

“Cut, and color,” I replied confidently. “I wanna go all natural.” I heard all my friends and my mother gasp.

“You mean…” Rosie started.

“Brown. Dark, deep, chocolate brown.” There was another collective gasp. “I know! I know. I haven’t been natural since, like, sixth grade. But I think it’s time.” My mom walked up behind me, smiling.

“I do to.” And so, it started. I was all foiled up next to the girls in thirty minutes, each of us under a heat dryer. Molly was just going a bit blonder, just a few shades lighter than her natural color and only in a few places. Rosie was getting her underside dyed black-don’t ask me why, her choice- and Jess was getting a few well placed highlights. While each of us sat, we were attacked by nail specialists (one hilarious one named Blake, who was amazingly flamboyant-meaning gay-and was also the guy who washed my hair and helped decide what colors to use), Heather with her tweezers (I was the first to go, thank God), and a photographer, whom I hadn’t noticed come in with Ann. As soon as the dryers had run their cycles, we were washed again, and then put back in front of the mirrors, facing away so we couldn’t see anything.

“Any specific cut?” Michelle asked. I thought for a minute.

“Only a bit on the end and the bangs-I like being able to pull it all back at once.” She smiled, and then went to work. In another twenty minutes, I was cut, blow dried, and curled with Michelle’s rhinestone-ed Chi (something I’d learned to do years before).

“I think we’re done,” I heard Heather say, and looked over to where she was finishing the final touches on Jess’ blowout. At the same time, the four ladies behind us turned us around. I swear, I almost fainted.

My hair looked…amazing. My entire look did, actually. My hangs were pulled up in a bump, which I normally would have never done (I don’t say I have a five-head for nothing), and I had this over all, wavy, curled, but natural looking thing going on. And the color…ohmigod, the color. It was this dark, rich brown that reminded me of the dark chocolate I hated so much growing up, but started to love when I began to eat healthier. I looked towards the rest of the group-Molly’s hair was blown straight, with highlights glistening in the still morning sun. Rosie’s looked seriously rocker, in a wavy, Ke$ha-like do. And Jess’s was blown out straight, with a bump like mine. I think everyone was as surprised as I was about my own hair…it was nuts how pretty it looked. Our nails were all different colors too-Molly’s were a dark pink, Jess’ were purple, Rosie’s were black and mine were a dark, Navy blue.

I said our thanks, and then followed Ann outside. She said that we could actually walk to where we were going from the Blue Room, but we decided to take our cars anyways, and followed Ann and the photographer down the street to, to my surprise, the Palomar Hotel.

“What are we…” I started to ask, but then trailed off, knowing that my questions would go unanswered. We valet parked the cars, and then walked in. I felt underdressed in my Cheer Soffe’s from years back and Disco Curtis tee shirt from last summer, with my old Tommy Hilfiger slip-ons and my messenger bag slung over my shoulder. But hey, my hair looked great. That was a plus. Ann led us towards the elevator, and then we went up to the next floor. We got off, and headed straight for the back wall, where the ballroom were. I glanced at Molly. What was going on? Was there a…

Yep. There was. We opened the door, and there was a photoshoot going on. Just what I’d suspected when we started going towards the ballroom. I mean, what else would we be doing? Dancing lessons?

We walked in, and spotted Joe, Nick and Kevin in front of the backdrop, striking poses. I smiled. Then we saw Demi, Danielle, Tanner, Garrett, A.J. and Brendan, along with Mama and Papa Jonas and Dee Dee (Mrs. De La Garza’s nickname) on the sidelines. Demi was getting powdered, and the boys were standing in a semi-circle, talking to Danielle and, as I saw when we get closer, their manager, Mikey. We walked towards them, and Ann went to let everyone know we were here I saw Brendan glance my way, but he didn’t seem to recognize me-until he did a double take.

“Mickie?” he questioned in a surprised tone. I smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Dude.” He got everyone else’s attention, and I felt pretty much all eyes on me. “Your hair,” he started. “It..”

“Looks bad?” I asked in a horrified tone. Brendan’s eyes widened and he shook his head.

“No, no!” he said quickly, backtracking. “It looks-

“-hot.” And for the first time I noticed that Joe, Nick and Kevin were done for the moment, and were entering the group. And Nick was the one who spoke, which surprised me (and made me blush to no end; seriously, a Jonas Brother had just called me hot. You try and stay calm). Joe seemed more like the type to make a comment, but he was walking up to Demi and slipping an arm around her waist as she chatted happily with my mom. Kevin kissed Danielle’s cheek (awww) and Nick stood between myself and Tanner, who was still staring.

“Tanner, quit looking at me like that. I’m gonna poke you.” That stopped him. He rolled his eyes, and crossed his arms.

“What happened to the red?” Nick asked.

“It wasn’t my natural color. This is. I figured it’d be better to have healthy hair that’s easy to keep up with while we were out.”

“Smart,” he said, grinning. I smiled back.

“It’s been known to happen.” I looked down at my freshly painted nails. “How’s the shoot going so far?” I asked everyone in general. Nick, again, was the first to answer.

“Slow, as usual.” I looked back up.

“Then why are you taking the time out to comment on my hair? Go write a song or something.” I gave a small smile and he rolled his eyes.

“Maybe because it deserves a comment? It looks good. I wasn’t exaggerating.” Before I could utter a response, someone yelled from across the room.

“Molly, Mickie, we need you guys in hair and make up!”

“What?” both Molly and I replied at the same time. We smiled at each other, and then looked for where Ann’s voice was calling from. She was standing in the corner of the room where there was a couple mirrors and lights set up with make up and hair stuff and racks of clothes in all different sizes. “We’re…in the shoot?” I asked slowly.

“This is the intro shoot for the story!” Ann said cheerily, gesturing for us to come closer. And then, we were hurled into seats and people started re-applying make up and changing our hair around-it was nuts. And then we were being thrown behind a screen in the far corner and clothes were being tossed at us. The first thing that I put on was a simple pair of cigarette cut jeans (tight at the top, straight at the bottom), and a black v-neck. I would never have tried the outfit on outside of this situation, as the shirt was a little…tight. But for some reason, when I looked in the mirror, coupled with my hair, it actually looked…good. Surprisingly. My only issue was it was a little…low cut. But all well. If ya got it, flaunt it, as Rosie said. They threw me a pair of black wedge boots, and I slid them on, and walked out to where I was re-touched and re curled before going back out and walking onto the backdrop, where, to my surprise, only Nick was standing, holding a brown and black Les Paul and looking very, very good in a black tee and leather jacket. He smiled when he saw me, despite the fact that there was a woman mercilessly tugging at his hair, trying to get it in the “right area.” (Insert eye roll here.) There was a chair right in front of where Nick was, and I looked at it, eyebrows raised.

“Mickie, just go ahead a sit down,” a voice called from behind me. I turned around, and the scruffy look, long haired photographer was standing impatiently, a Polaroid camera in hand. I sat down in the chair sideways, and draped my legs over the arm, turning a 45 degree angle. One of the most slimming poses I knew. The lady rushed off set, and Nick stood behind me, holding his guitar in place.

“Test shots,” Nick muttered. “For the lighting.” I looked up at him, and he was staring down intently at me. Uhm, creeper much?

“I know,” I replied, smiling. “This isn’t my first rodeo, cowboy.” I laughed and patted his hand. He raised an eyebrow at me, but the shoot director (or who I assumed was, because this lady was running around set like a chicken with its head cut off) told us to get ready. So, Nick started his whole moody stare thing, and I casually flopped my head towards the camera.

Okay, so I’d done this before. Lots of times, actually. That whole talent group thing, yeah, that. Well it was a multi-faceted thing. We were actors, singers, and in some cases, models. Which is why pretty much all the people from there are now a DST-or Disney Sugar Trifecta, as Rosie and I, along with our friend Lissy, had dubbed them. Not offensive, just descriptive. But to say that I was good at this would have been an overstatement. I knew what I was doing, yeah, but I never really considered myself a true model. Music was what I stuck to most of the time. And as the photographer snapped a few Polariods for testing, I couldn’t help but feel like I was getting back into something-something that was going to take me for a wild ride.

3:45 PM
Prescot Residence-Grapevine, TX

“Rose, have you seen my-

“It’s on your dresser!” Rosie screamed from the bathroom, before I could even finish my sentence. I glanced at the side dresser, and sure enough, my dark blue portfolio folder with the silver lettering on it, spelling out Mickie, was sitting under a half filled cup of water and my sunglasses. I smiled to myself and yelled back a thank you. I threw the folder, one of the last things I needed to pack up, on my bed, and then yanked my purse open. I grabbed what I was looking for out of the side pocket, and tucked them under the flap on the side holding other various goodies-tickets from past concerts, an article I’d had published in Teen Ink magazine, the first of my published works, a ticket stub from the first movie I’d ever seen with Rosie, Employee of the Month (Lord knows what our parents were thinking, letting us go see a movie with Dane Cook in it at age 12), along with the stub to the first group date I’d ever gone on-to see Stick It later that year at the second run theater with Rosie, and two boys in our grade. This folder also held ideas, drawings and lists for all my stories, as well as my stuff to do promo-for the very boys who had done the photoshoot with me that day, no less.

After Nick and I had done our little tester shots, we’d pulled Molly, Kevin and Joe in and we all did some random poses, then we got Demi in, and then Disco Curtis. By the end, we didn’t have to fake laugh. Tanner and I were making so many your mamma and “that’s what she said” jokes that we were laughing so hard, the make up artist hurried over to check our eyeliner and mascara. Then Brendan and Nick had decided to pick me up, for some stupid reason. And Rosie and Jess and joined in on the fun (which is why they’d gotten makeovers too-they were in the shoot next to us), jeering at Brendan and Nick and starting up some loud techno music. All of this had lead to some pretty amusing shots, and those that the photographer had shown us, I’d asked to print out. Those were what I was tucking into the folder, along with a single Polariod, one of me and Nick, in the first couple of shots taken. He’s standing behind me, looking down, and I’m looking at the camera, my hair all messy. The girl in the photo doesn’t even look like me, in my opinion, but I kept it. I loved the picture.

“Girls!” my mother called from the other room. “You’ve gotta hurry it up! We’re supposed to meet everyone at the busses in Westlake in less than half an hour! We’ve gotta get going!” She sounded more and more American each day. I, on the other hand, vowed never to loose my accent the moment I stepped foot in the country. I closed my notebook quickly, and threw it into my overnight bag-a large tote from Vera Bradley in my print (Yellow Bird), along with my clothes for the night and tomorrow, and other necessities like my laptop, charger, toothbrush, straightener, etc. Rosie was, by this time, stuffing various bathroom products (gels, moose’s) into my one of my large, purple polka dot suitcases, of which all four were stuffed to the brim. I know, I know. Why the hell does she have FOUR purple suitcases? Well, in the first place, knowing me, I’d probably trash one of them in the next month or so, so I always buy more of what I need. And secondly, the four HUGE cases barely fit all my clothes, shoes and bags, not to mention the entire small suitcase I had filled with accessories, make up and other assorted items, like my favorite soft, brown blanket.

We packed the car up, and I took one last glance at my room. For the most part, it looked the same. The only differences were that my clothes rack, which usually held my most up to date pieces, was completely empty, aside from the few bags that I never used on the top. My dark, royal purple and chocolate brown walls were still covered with posters; Panic!, Disco Curtis, FTSK, She&Him, Lilly Allen, one of Demi From her first tour that she’d autographed for me, Katy Perry, and one of Jesse McCartney shoved way back in the corner. I couldn’t get myself to throw away the first piece of merch I’d ever purchased at a concert. Even if it was…him.

My parents, The Harts, Jess, Rosie and I all piled into the large van (Nicknamed: The Tank) we owned, and traveled the some ten minutes to get to the neighborhood we’d been told the guys lived in, and where the busses would be waiting. Yeah, busses. Plural. As in, we’d been informed, there would be more than one, trailing along the high way. Cause that’s not obvious at all…

By the time we got there, there were about ten cars parked in front of the large house we pulled up to. It was in this huge, quiet neighborhood close to Southlake, where we’d been the day before, with a small, but long wall surrounding most of the area, and what looked to be a large golf course and lake in the middle of it. And when we pulled up in front of the supposed address, I spotted three (yeah, you heard me right, THREE) busses parked in front. Two were slightly smaller than the one farthest from the house. And then, I saw a large group of people standing outside. I was quick to recognize everyone from the shoot, as well as Mama and Papa Jonas, but there was a large man that I hadn’t seen last night standing menacingly behind everyone, along with four guys who looked to be in their early to mid twenties, maybe older.

When we got out, we were introduced to the man as Big Rob. It took me a minute to realize he was the one in the “Burnin Up” Video, and had been on stage last night for a bit before we went backstage. The four boys were introduced as Garbo (Greg), John, Jack and Ryan. After fifteen minutes of chatting, we were heading towards the bus. I started to head back towards the Tank, but Anne pulled me back, shaking her head. She pulled us onto the first bus, which was a little bit bigger than the other two, and was painted a dark blue. We went inside, and the first thing on the right was a large circular shaped chair. The, on the left, there were black couches on either side of the wide corridor. It must have been ten feet wide, at least. On one side there was one long couch, followed by a small kitchen setting with a full sink, stove, oven, microwave and medium fridge. On the other side there was a short couch with a reclining chair at the end, and then a large table big enough to seat maybe six people. “We don’t eat that much on the bus,” Joe said, plopping down on the couch nearest to the table. He rolled his head back, pretending to sleep, and we all laughed. There were two large TV’s plotted in the room, one just past the table on the wall towards the end of the bus, next to a door, and then one above the couches closest to the kitchen. We followed Ann, who opened a door and showed the two bathrooms on either side, followed by another room with couches, a slightly smaller TV, and a table.

“So this is like…a hangout bus?” Molly asked, looking around in amazement. Ann nodded. I looked around in amazement. This bus was bigger than my room! Before I could say anything though, Ann rounded us back up, and we walked out side, back to the other busses.

“Bus assignments!” Mama Jonas called, pulling a large clipboard out of her enormous bag. The boys groaned. I laughed.

“Why so sad?”

“Because everyone’s always split up for sleeping assignments. Especially with a group this big,” Nick said, adjusting his large messenger bag on his shoulder. I gave him a small smile.

“I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

“Bus number one,” Mama J started, pointing to the dark green one. “We’ve Dee Dee in the big room.”

“And then in the bunks we’ve got Kat, Molly, John, Tanner, Joe, Garrett, Greg, and Ryan.” They went off to stand in a group. So I wasn’t bunking with Molly for the trip? So much for late night talks and gossips on the bus. “The rest of you, meaning Mickie, Nick, Demi, Brendan, AJ, Frankie, Robert, Jack, and then myself and Mr. Jonas, will all be on bus #2. Danielle and Kevin will have the bedroom on the blue bus.”

“Yes!” They high fived. Mikey muttered something about being glad he wasn’t going on the busses, and I glanced at Tanner, who just smiled back.

I felt arms sling around my waist, and I turned around to see Demi grinning at me.

“Hey, roomie!” I laughed, and hugged her. Rosie and Jess stood with mom, while we filed into our respective busses. I slung my large bags in the undercarriage before heading in, but the bus was WAY different than before. There was no large seating area, only two small couches with one chair up front for the driver. Halfway in, there were eight large, full sized bunk beds, all in rows, leading up to a small hallway that ended with a large bedroom. On either side before the bedroom, there was what looked to be bathrooms, and then one in the back bedroom. Before I could ask, Mama J read off our bed assignments, starting with the ones closet to the bedroom as we faced her. She pointed to the top one on the far left.

“Brendan, you’re right here. Frankie, you’re on the bottom bunk below him.” She went forward a few steps, and pointed to the next row. “Demi, you’re up here, with AJ underneath.” Someone made a dirty joke about Demi being on top, and we all snickered as she threw a death glare at Brendan. I just rolled my eyes. Same old Brendan. Mama J took a step to her left, our right, and pointed to the bunk across from Demi. “Mickie, you’re up here, with Nick below,” she said, and Brendan snickered again. I smacked him across the chest, starting to make my way towards the bunk. “And then Robert, you’re right here, on the other side of Nick. Jack, you’re up here.” She patted the empty bunk, smiling. “Paul and I will be in the master bedroom, and will be using that bathroom. Demi and Mickie, you can use this bathroom to get ready in the morning.” She pointed to the one on the side my bunk was on. “But if one of the boys decides to break the rules,” she gave them all a pointed look, “which, Lord knows they will, fell free to use ours as long as you ask. We’ll be sleeping and getting ready here the days we’re on the road, and then once everyone’s ready we’ll stop and switch over to the Blue bus.”

“So, we’ve got three busses. Two for living,” Brendan said, thinking out loud. “We should have team names. Like, for the bus.” I laughed. Until then, I hadn’t noticed that there were curtains for each of the bunks. Red, velvety and luxurious, each set was pulled to the side, except on one bunk; mine. And as Demi launched into ideas with Brendan about what we should call ourselves, I finally made my way over to my bunk with my huge overnighter.

“What about Barney?” Demi suggested, glancing over at me. I was only half paying attention. “Ya know, cause the bus is purple and all.” I stopped listening all together when I opened up the curtain. I stopped because there, on my bed, was what looked to be the entire contents of the Wal-Mart Electronics department, along with that little gift card stand that’s right next to the check outs, with a little bit of the jewelry and accessories department thrown in.

The first thing I saw was the phone. A phone, sitting on my bed, which, I might add, was already dressed in a light lavender bedspread with lime green striped sheets; my two favorite colors. Not just any phone, though. Oh, no. This, this was an iPhone. A brand new iPhone, still in the black, shiny box. I heard Demi and Ann walk up behind me, and Demi let out a loud “whoa.” Next, I saw a camera, perched on a little tripod next to, what looked like a Flip video camera. So not just a phone, but a camera AND a video camera? This was…crazy. “Ann,” I said quietly. “This is too much.”

“No, it’s not.” She put a hand on my shoulder, and I looked at her. She gestured to the stuff in turn. “We figured that your phone didn’t have internet, and with the iPhone you can post stuff on the go. The cameras are for the obvious part, you’ve got to document everything.”

“But what about all this?” I picked up a long strand of pearls laying on the bed next to everything, along with the rest of the about fifteen pieces of jewelry still there.

“Well, you’ve got to look good on the job.” She gave me a wide smile, and for the first time, I noticed that everyone was watching us. I thought I was going to start crying. Really. This was…all hitting me at once. I was getting the chance to do this, to be what I’ve wanted to be for years, because of Ann.

I pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you so much. You have no idea how much all this means to me.”

Saying goodbye would be the hardest part. I knew that. I’d done it before, all those times when I’d spent my summers here, away from my home in England, and then back in England the last few summers. But when the time came, after we’d lugged everything into the house, I cried less than I thought I would. I think it was mostly the fact that I was going to be doing something that I loved-and had been looking forward to doing all my life as a profession already. And maybe it was also due to the fact that I was so nervous I was shaking. But that was mostly the idea of spending my entire summer with a bunch of teenage guys. Not that I didn’t already do that, seeing as who Rosie and I were friends with.

Rosie was by far the hardest to say good bye to. Who would I turn to when I needed help with boy drama (which there was sure to be)? Who would I ask about my outfit or hair? But then, she reminded me that not only was Demi with me, but so was Molly (who had, as I’d discovered once we’d exited the busses, received pretty much what I had, except in different colors).

“You have to look after these boys,” my mom said, giving me a watery but wry smile and enveloping me in a huge hug. “Denise says they need some good influences right now.”

“I’ll believe that.” We both laughed as she got back in the car. Dad and Libs both waved at me from their seats, and Mom drove away as I watched until the car disappeared into the horizon.

Ann said a quick goodbye with a knowing smile, saying she’d see us soon, and we loaded our stuff into the busses. Denise instructed us to grab whatever we needed before we stopped for dinner in a few hours, as we’d be spending the time before in the blue bus. I piled all my new stuff from my bed into a Vera Bradley bag, and hiked it up on my shoulder along with my computer bag, my purse, and a pair of sweats to change into in case I got cold (I was still in Soffe’s and the tee shirt from earlier in the day).

Once on the bus, I tried to organize everything as best I could; the three bracelets, four rings, five necklaces, two sets of earrings and two ear cuffs (my weakness-it’s fake piercing that looks real, but I haven’t worn them in forever) strewn across the bed. The gift cards to places like Panera and Chipotle and Chevy’s, all my favorite places; the what seemed to be endless supply of Bare Minerals, which I swear by, and Lash Stiletto; the most ahdorable Coach computer case, which was the perfect size for my small laptop, along with the matching portfolio, which I finally got to look at, and equally as matching iPhone case. I entered everything on my computer, trying to be as organized as possible.

Once we’d all been on the bus for a while, we stopped for dinner at a little place near Wichita Falls. Molly, Demi, Kat and I all sat at one table, Chattering away like old friends do. It was hard not speaking in Italian around Demi; I was so used to it, because that’s how we talked most of the time. But Kat didn’t understand almost any of it, so we stuck to English for once. Full of breakfast foods, which are always a good dinner choice, we loaded back on the busses, and I grabbed my camera. It’s as good of a time as any to do my first video blog, I thought, heading towards the front of the bus where it was a little quieter. I set the dark camera on its tripod, making sure you could see me in the frame, and then pressed record. I was winging it.

“Hi everyone,” I said slowly, tucking a loose curl behind my hair, which I’d pulled into a ponytail. “I don’t know…exactly who all is going to be watching this, but I thought I should go ahead and start on this stuff. For those of you who don’t know who I am, I’m Mikayla Prescot…Mickie for short. I’m a writer, a blogger, and a whole lot of other stuff. I got this job…God, I don’t even know how.” I set my chin on my hand, looking down. “It’s been kinda crazy, this last day or so. Yesterday, my big summer plans were tanning with my friends and maybe finishing a story or two. And now…” I glanced down at the portfolio, laid out on the couch next to my stuff.

“And now she’s on tour with us,” someone said, and I felt hot breath on my cheek. I looked over, surprised, and realized I was about an inch away from Nick’s face. He pulled up a chair and adjusted the camera so both of us were visible. Suddenly, my years of improve training clicked in. I went for the first thing I could.

“God, Nick. Who invited you?” I rolled my eyes and tucked that same piece of hair behind my year again. He laughed.

“I don’t need an invite. This is my bus.”

“Whatever,” I answered back, smiling. “Can I help you?”

“I just wanted to drop in,” he said. “Videos are kinda my thing.”

“The only thing we’re missing is Joe and a Baseball hat,” I quipped sarcastically. Nick, shocked, let out a small laugh.

“I didn’t think you watched our videos?” he said questioningly.

“I’ve seen more than you think,” I replied with a small smile. He dropped the subject, but I could tell that he was going to bring it up again later.

We went on like that for a good five minutes, questioning each other on the most random topics, everything form music to food. In the end, the video of our pointless banter was actually pretty…cute. We watched it over, checking for points to edit.

“Oh God,” he said, grabbing the camera and pressing the rewind button. “He did not…” He pressed play and handed it back to me, but pressed close so he could see the screen. I felt his breath on me again, and I couldn’t help the chills that went up my spine. I looked back at the screen just in time to see Joe in the background of the video, just over Nick’s shoulder. He walked past, then back, realizing we were recording. Then, while Nick and I were totally oblivious, started doing random dances behind us. First, it was the chicken dance. Than something that looked like Walk Like an Egyptian, followed by some sort of cowboy-meets-Irish jig that entailed grabbing the front waistband of his pants and jumping from foot to foot. I couldn’t help it. I bent over in my seat and gasped for air, laughing so hard, so long, until tears were streaming down my face. Nick was right there with me, wiping under his eyes as he bent up, still chuckling. “God,” he started. “That’s priceless. Keep that part. It’s too funny.” I nodded in agreement, wiping under my eyes for smeared mascara. Nick, I’d noticed, stopped chuckling. He was looking at me. Oh God. “What did you mean by ‘I’ve seen more than you think’?” he asked. I smiled and pulled the memory stick out of the camera, and plugging it into my computer.

“Nothing. Just that I’ve seen a lot of your videos.”

“But why,” he asked again, still looking at me. “You said it yourself, when we were at the shoot, that we’re not really your style of music. But you’ve seen our videos?” I just shook my head. “There’s something you’re not telling us about how you know us,” he said, louder. “I knew I recognized you from somewhere when I first saw you at the stadium.” I noticed Kat glancing our way, and Demi, stunned, stared at us over Joe’s arm, which was wrapped around her on the couch. I knew what she was thinking; I was too. That he was going to figure it all out. That I could sing. That I was in acting as a kid. That I knew most of his Disney friends. I was assuming maybe he’d seen a video or two of mine on YouTube, maybe found after Googling my name to do a background check. Those kinds of things were going through my head before he said is next words. “You’re Amy’s cousin!” he said cheerily, a proud smile on his face, like he was about to receive a prize for figuring it out. I let out the breath I’d been holding. So he hadn’t figured out the stuff from my childhood; awesome. But he had figured out something I’d really been hoping he wouldn’t.

“Amy who?” I asked.

“You know who I’m talking about, Mikayla.” He said the last bit pointedly, in an almost mocking tone. “You’re Amy Porter’s littler cousin, Mikayla.”

“Now I remember you!” Joe said, jumping off of the couch and walking over to where we sat. “But your hair was different.”

“That awful shade of blonde,” Nick replied with a nod. My jaw went slack. Awful? It may not have been a great choice, but it wasn’t awful. I shot a glare at Nick, and then a pleading glance at Demi.

“I think the blonde looked good!” she said, jumping up from the couch. Crap. Not what I was going for, Dems.

“I knew it!” Nick stood up from the chair, pointing a finger at me. “It is you! You used to come with her to shows in Jersey! She said you ended up doing your own street teams?” By then, everyone was watching the conversation taking place. I just gave a pointed glance towards Brendan and AJ, and then went back to uploading the video before I went to go figure out the new phone. Nick had pissed me off, even if it was over nothing.

As I sat on the couch later in front of the TV, which was blaring Finding Nemo at a ridiculous volume, staring down at the phone I was trying to figure out, muttering various obscenities under my breath in Italian, Nick plopped down next to me, sitting back and extending his arms across the wide back. “Need help?” he asked, smirking. I glanced back, annoyed.

“I think I’ve got it,” I said dryly, trying to figure out how to change ringtones on the blasted thing.

“So…three months on a bus with a bunch of guys. Think you can handle it?” He was still smirking, and I set the phone down, pulling the black leather and rhinestone portfolio out of my back, glancing at the next few days’ itineraries, noting that we had another concert the next day in Oklahoma City.

“If I can handle my best guy friends, who, I might add, are high school Sophomores and have the maturity levels of about kindergartners, then I’m pretty sure I can handle you and your friends,” I threw back, flipping to the next page. June 16: Photo shoot at Embassy Suites Times Square-9:30 AM. A photo shoot at nine thirty in the morning? What were these people smoking when they scheduled that?

“We’ll see,” Nick said with a final, knowing smirk. I just rolled my eyes. “What’s your problem?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“You insulted my hair,” I said shortly, turning another page.

“Oh, come on!” he sat up. “You really think I was meaning to insult you? I just meant that the brown looks better. It suits you more.” I rolled my eyes again. He was making me do that a lot. “Really, Mickie.” I kept my gaze down, and then felt a hand under my chin. Nick’s calussed fingers lifted it, making me look him in the eyes. “Mickie. Listen to me. I’m sorry I said anything that may have in insulted you. Your hair looks gorgeous. Honestly, you look gorgeous in anything, with your hair any way, even now in a ponytail.” He gave a light tug at the strand that’s always falling out of the ponytail and smiled. “Don’t let anyone tell you different.” H gave another smile, and then got up from the couch, heading over to the bar in the kitchen area where Joe and Demi were chatting away, drinking tall glasses of Dr. Pepper. The second he left, Molly came and sat next to me, already in tune with her brown Coach-Case-covered iPhone, texting away at what seemed to be a million miles and hour.

“What was that about?” she asked, finally clicking her phone off.

“I don’t know.” I glanced down at the schedule again, playing with my hands in my lap. I could feel my blush still creeping its way up my cheeks.

“Oh god, Mick, don’t look now, but the sod’s talking about you.”

“What?” I looked up, despite what Molly had said, just as Nick glanced over from where he was seated at the other side of the bus. He met my eyes, and gave a long, warm smile. Demi and Joe turned to see what he was looking at, and smiled to. Oh, yeah. They were so talking about me. But something else happened too. Because in that smile, there was something different. Not just a warm, I’m glad you’re here smile. It didn’t seem like that to me. It seemed like something way more complicated than that.

And that smile, that long, warm smile? It lit a spark of fear in me; fear that this summer was going to be crazy, but fun at the same time. Fear of having to write something worthy of an international publication like Seventeen. And fear of the fact that maybe, just maybe, there was a guy out there that I might like that actually might like me, size 12 dress size and all. And that, for me, was the scariest thought of all.