Rock Royalty

by Kathryn Williams

  “You guess? They were all,” Caitlyn imitated the staff, “‘lights on her hair’ and ‘let’s make her eyes pop.’”

  Mitchie laughed and rolled her eyes. “I know. They just want it to be perfect, though. You can’t blame them. . . . I mean, I want it to be perfect, too. This is the official kick-off of the Camp Rock scholarship!”

  Mitchie’s mom weighed in from the sink. “I think it’s wonderful that you’ve found a way to give back to Camp Rock, Mitchie.”

  “Well, it was Shane’s idea, really,” Mitchie reminded her.

  “I knew I liked that boy,” Mitchie’s mom joked, her brown eyes twinkling.

  “Anyway,” Mitchie continued, changing the subject, “I can only stay for a little bit today, Mom. We have a wardrobe fitting at—” Mitchie glanced at her watch. “Shoot! In ten minutes.”

  Mitchie swiped the cucumbers she had diced into a neat pile beside Caitlyn’s.

  “You have to go?” Caitlyn and Connie asked at the same time.

  “Whoa—jinx! You owe each other a Coke.” Mitchie was laughing, but her mother wasn’t.

  “Mitchie, I’m going crazy in here with all this extra food I have to make,” Connie said, running a hand through her brown hair. “I need you in the kitchen.”

  “But they have to fit me for my wardrobe,” Mitchie explained again.

  “Well, can’t you reschedule for later in the day?” her mom asked. “Like after lunch?”

  “There’s a makeup meeting after the fitting,” Mitchie said, unaware that her tone had become a little condescending.

  Caitlyn’s gaze bounced between mother and daughter, all too aware of the growing tension.

  Connie eyed her daughter. What had gotten into Mitchie? The most makeup she wore at home was Chap Stick!

  “And then I’m scheduled for a mani,” Mitchie added, almost as an afterthought.

  “‘A mani’?” Connie repeated, not sure she was hearing correctly.

  Even Caitlyn was beginning to feel confused by this imposter Mitchie.

  “Too ‘mani’ excuses,” Caitlyn muttered under her breath, but either Mitchie didn’t hear her or didn’t care.

  “A manicure,” Mitchie explained. “I can’t go onstage as a School Rocks representative with dishpan hands!” She held up her hands for proof. It was true. Her nail polish was chipped, and her hands looked dried out from the dish soap they used every day in the kitchen.

  Connie sighed. “Okay. I just hope your other beauty appointments don’t interfere with dinner prep.”

  As Connie spoke, the sound of a cell phone ringing filled the kitchen. It was coming from Mitchie’s pocket.

  “Oh! Just a second,” said Mitchie, extracting her phone from her pocket. “Hello?” she chirped.

  As Mitchie talked to whoever was on the other line, Caitlyn and Connie exchanged glances.

  “Since when has Mitchie carried her cell phone at camp?” Connie asked Caitlyn.

  “Apparently since she became rock royalty,” Caitlyn said with a groan. Funny how quickly things can change, she thought.

  “That was Ginger,” Mitchie said, as if that were obvious. Neither Caitlyn nor Connie knew Ginger, the creative director of the School Rocks concert. “They’re waiting for me at the Keynote Cabin. Sorry to jet!” Waving good-bye, Mitchie flew out the door.

  “I’ll stay and help you, Connie,” said Caitlyn.

  “Thank you, Caitlyn.”

  “Connie?” Caitlyn said hesitantly a few minutes later.

  “Hmmm?” Connie responded as she diced tomatoes.

  “Do you think Mitchie remembers that the only reason she’s at Camp Rock is because you offered to work in the kitchen?”

  Connie sighed. “That’s a good question, Caitlyn. That’s a very good question.”

  As they chopped and diced and slivered and sautéed, they both wondered how Mitchie, of all people, could have morphed into a demi-diva overnight.

  There was one big challenge at a place like Camp Rock, where you were performing all the time—to keep your music fresh. So Caitlyn, after kitchen duty, had wandered over to an empty rehearsal cabin to work on some new material.

  She was trying to get the hook of a new song down, but whatever she was doing wasn’t working. Caitlyn was so engrossed in her computer that she didn’t even hear the sound of footsteps approaching.

  “Oh, my gosh, you scared me!” Caitlyn nearly jumped out of her skin when she noticed Mac standing behind her.

  “Not exactly the reaction I was going for.” Mac grinned. “May I?” He gestured to the bench next to Caitlyn.

  Caitlyn stifled a laugh. Mac could be so formal sometimes. “You may,” she said dramatically.

  “What are you workin’ on today?” Mac drawled.

  “I’m trying to get this hook down, but something’s off.”

  “Can I have a listen?” he asked.

  “Sure.”

  Mac reached across and punched ENTER on Caitlyn’s laptop. Designs on the screen danced in neon shades of pink, green, and blue as the music played. It was good, but she was right, the hook was off.

  “Yeah. That doesn’t work,” agreed Mac.

  “Gee, thanks,” Caitlyn said sarcastically. She slumped on the bench and ran a hand through her wavy brown hair.

  “I tried this.” Caitlyn punched some keys and the hook played again. Still not right. “And this.” Again, no good.

  Caitlyn fidgeted with a leather bracelet on her wrist and sighed. “I just can’t seem to concentrate,” she grumbled.

  “Why not? Are you distracted?”

  “What would I be distracted by?” Caitlyn responded.

  “Something . . . or someone?” Caitlyn didn’t pick up on the hint of hopefulness in Mac’s voice. Although he wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, he was hoping he might be the one occupying Caitlyn’s thoughts.

  “Yes!” Caitlyn exclaimed. It was as if a lightbulb had suddenly turned on in her head. “That’s exactly it.”

  “Really?” Mac asked, surprised and pleased. But then Caitlyn went on.

  “It’s Mitchie,” she said. “She’s not acting like herself, and it’s kind of throwing me for a loop.”

  “Oh,” Mac said, hiding his disappointment. “I see. . . . So, what’s she acting like?”

  “A diva,” Caitlyn explained. “All day, with this concert, she’s been acting like a total pop princess. That’s so not Mitchie.”

  “I hear ya,” Mac said. “She must be under a lot of pressure, though. A lot has happened this summer, and now she’s performing at a huge promotional concert with Shane Gray! That would make anyone act a little differently.”

  Caitlyn considered Mac’s words for a moment. “You’re right,” she said finally. “Hopefully once the concert’s over, her head will shrink back down to normal size.”

  Mac laughed.

  “You know,” observed Caitlyn, “you’re pretty easy to talk to.”

  Mac’s cheeks flushed. “Thanks,” he said, looking at Caitlyn’s screen saver as if it were the most interesting thing in the world. “You’re pretty easy to talk to yourself.”

  “Thanks.” Caitlyn sighed. “Too bad my superior conversational skills won’t fix my hook.” She turned back to her laptop.

  “What if . . .” Mac said, then his voice trailed off. “Never mind.”

  “What?” Caitlyn asked. She wanted his opinion.

  “What if you use a B-flat here and speed up the tempo there?” Mac pointed to the chord progression on the laptop’s screen.

  Caitlyn hummed the tune. “Yes!” she cried. “I like that. That works.”

  She punched a few keys on her computer, and the music played again. The beat was stronger, and the hook actually hooked the listener.

  “Thanks.” Caitlyn grinned at Mac, and he grinned back.

  “No problem,” he said.

  Caitlyn didn’t know what to say now. Her heart was racing oddly and her palms felt unnaturally clammy. Mac looked nervous, too.

 
Suddenly, they were interrupted by a sound outside the rehearsal cabin. It sounded like someone was crying—a girl. Standing up, Caitlyn went to the cabin’s window and peered outside. Tess was sitting on the front steps.

  Why is it that I always seem to be the one finding Tess in tears? Caitlyn mused to herself. But she quickly pushed that thought aside. Tess looked really upset.

  “Tess?” Caitlyn said softly, trying not to startle her. Turning, Tess looked like a deer caught in headlights. She quickly wiped the tears from her cheeks. “Oh. Hey, Caitlyn.” She stood up. “I was just leaving.”

  “Hang on,” said Caitlyn, running across the cabin and out the door onto the front porch with Tess. “What’s up? Is something wrong?”

  Tess bit her bottom lip and shook her blond head. “No,” she said. “Why would you think that?”

  Mac had come outside and joined them on the front porch.

  “Umm . . . maybe because you’re crying?” Caitlyn said, trying not to sound too sarcastic. She knew Tess’s guard went up quickly.

  Tess sucked in her lower lip and looked up at the blue sky. It was obvious she was trying to stop crying, but a tear slid down her cheek anyway. “Fine,” she said, deciding she couldn’t hide it this time. “I’m just upset because I found out something about the concert.”

  “What’d you find out?” Mac asked, leaning against a wood post.

  Tess took a deep breath. She barely knew Mac and didn’t exactly get along with Caitlyn, but she had to tell someone. If she didn’t, she was afraid she’d be teary— and blotchy—forever. “One of the concert organizers slipped and said that they only invited me to perform because my mom made them,” she spat.

  Tess tried to look really mad but couldn’t. Instead, her bottom lip trembled and her eyes filled with more tears.

  Caitlyn looked at Mac, unsure of what to do. He shrugged, as if to say, “I have no clue, it’s a girl thing.” Moving closer to Tess, Caitlyn awkwardly put an arm around the girl’s shoulders.

  “It’s okay, Tess,” Caitlyn said, trying to sound reassuring. “It doesn’t matter how you got on the lineup. You’re totally gonna rock the concert. That’s all that matters!”

  Tess sniffled.

  Caitlyn was saved from having to offer more advice by Ella.

  “Tess?” the other girl said, coming up the path toward the rehearsal cabin. Lorraine was right beside her.

  Hearing Ella’s voice, Tess pulled out from under Caitlyn’s arm and quickly wiped her eyes.

  “Oh, hey, Ella,” Tess said casually, spinning to face them. Her “plastic” face was on again. “What’s up?”

  “Were you crying?” Lorraine asked, looking concerned and confused.

  “No,” Tess said quickly. “A bug just flew in my eye. Caitlyn and Mac were helping me get it out.”

  Tess shot the pair a look, daring them to contradict her.

  “Yeah,” Mac said. “We were just helping her get a gnat out of her lie—I mean eye.”

  Caitlyn giggled but said nothing.

  Tess gave them one last look and then walked off the porch. “Thanks, Caitlyn,” she said over her shoulder as she headed toward the path that led to the lake, Ella and Lorraine on either side. Her moment of vulnerability was apparently over.

  Caitlyn sighed as Tess disappeared around the bend. When she looked at Mac, they both doubled over in laughter.

  “ ‘Out of her lie?’ ” repeated Caitlyn.

  Mac grinned. “Couldn’t help it.”

  “It’s all fun and games until someone loses a lie, you know,” Caitlyn cracked.

  “I guess you and I see lie to lie on the matter,” Mac joked.

  “I’m keeping my lie on you, Wilson,” Caitlyn teased.

  “Fine by me!” said Mac. “I’ve been keeping mine on you.”

  Caitlyn blushed. She never thought she’d say this, but it seemed Mac’s Southern charm was working. For a little while, she’d forgotten that her best friend had done a personality switch. Caitlyn just hoped that diva Mitchie would disappear as quickly as she had appeared.

  CHAPTER

  SIX

  The next morning, Mitchie’s eyes shot open before her alarm clock even rang to wake her for kitchen duty. She had barely slept at all. It was the day of the School Rocks concert. Today she, Mitchie Torres, would sing on a stage in front of total strangers. Gulp. How am I going to do this? she wondered.

  Luckily, there was quite a lot going on to keep her mind preoccupied. Mitchie spent most of the day in town at the school for a final sound check and rehearsal under the enthusiastic watch of Brown and Dee. Then it was off to wardrobe and hair and makeup before she had to be backstage at three. They were “rolling,” as the crew said, at six.

  In addition to the crew and School Rocks organizers, the high-school grounds were also swarming with T.J. Tyler’s entourage, including the president of Blush Cosmetics, who followed T.J. around like a puppy, telling her how “fabulous” she was at least every two minutes.

  Nate and Jason had come to support Shane. Over the summer they had made several trips to Camp Rock and Mitchie was glad to see them there. She needed all the familiar faces she could get in the audience.

  By five, the high school’s theater was packed with campers, counselors, Lincoln students and friends, a few select members of the press, and special guests of the performers and School Rocks. Outside the theater, cashiers rang up last-minute sales of T-shirts, mugs, programs, and other concert paraphernalia. The show’s producers were making final adjustments, while stagehands bustled back and forth talking to each other about set changes, lighting, and microphone placement over their headsets.

  Meanwhile, in the wings, Mitchie paced. It felt like a cage full of butterflies had been unleashed in her stomach. Shane was waiting with her and was far less nervous. To him, this was just another day “on the job.” But he knew Mitchie was upset, and he was trying to calm her.

  “Deep breaths,” he said. “Hee-hee-hoo. Hee-hee-hoo,” he breathed in and out.

  “You sound silly!” Mitchie laughed.

  “See, but you’re smiling now. That’s better than hyperventilating.”

  “True,” Mitchie said, peeking around the red curtain. In the third row sat Lola, Peggy, and Colby, and on the end was Caitlyn, next to Mac. Behind them, she could make out Barron, Sander, and Andy. She heaved a deep sigh.

  “You’re gonna be great,” said Shane, putting his hands on Mitchie’s shoulders and turning her to face him. He looked deep in her eyes. “If you get nervous, just remember to look at me.”

  “I might end up looking at you the whole time,” said Mitchie.

  “That’s fine with me,” Shane said, smiling.

  “Ready for your big moment?”

  Mitchie spun around at the familiar, deep voice. “Dad!” she cried. Rushing over, she flew into her father’s waiting arms. Beside him, Connie smiled.

  “Whoa,” he said, nearly bowled over by her momentum.

  Mitchie looked in surprise between her mother and father. “I thought you were working!”

  “I was,” he said. “But I couldn’t miss seeing my daughter’s big moment.”

  “How did you get backstage?” Mitchie asked. She glanced at the muscular bodyguards in tight black T-shirts guarding all the entrances to the stage. “The security here’s like Fort Knox tonight!”

  “We know people,” her mom joked. “I told them Mitchie Torres was my daughter.”

  “Plus, Brown vouched for us,” her dad added.

  “I’m so happy to see you!” Mitchie cried. She hugged her mom and dad again.

  Beside her, Shane quietly cleared his throat.

  “Oh, sorry! Dad, you remember Shane Gray.” Earlier that summer they had met briefly after Final Jam.

  “Nice to see you again, Mr. Torres,” Shane said politely. Mitchie was impressed. He even held out his hand to shake her father’s.

  “Likewise,” said Mr. Torres. “I’ve heard you and Mitchie have been having a great summ
er.”

  Shane blanched. “From the tabloids?”

  “No, from Mitchie’s mom,” Mitchie’s dad answered. Shane laughed and relaxed.

  “You know, in all the craziness, I never thought to ask—what song are you singing?” Mitchie’s mom asked.

  “ ‘This Place,’ ” Mitchie and Shane answered in unison.

  “It’s the one I wrote for B’s Jam,” explained Mitchie. “The acoustic song about Camp Rock that Faye Hart wanted to buy but I didn’t want to sell.”

  “I asked if we could sing it, since it’s about camp,” Shane added. “And part of the money we raise is going toward the Camp Rock scholarship.” He turned to Mr. Torres. “I don’t know if Mrs. Torres told you, but Mitchie’s really been an inspiration.”

  “So I heard,” said Mitchie’s dad, nodding his head appreciatively.

  Suddenly, a stagehand hurried up, all business. “Five minutes till you’re on,” she warned. She looked at Mitchie’s parents. “Are you her manager?” she asked Connie.

  “No. I’m her mother,” Connie replied.

  “Okay, well if you’re not staff, you’re going to have to leave the stage,” she said, shuffling the Torreses toward the stairs. “Sorry.”

  “Good luck, honey!” Mitchie’s dad called over his shoulder.

  “No!” Connie said, playfully hitting him on the arm. “You’re supposed to say ‘break a leg.’”

  “Oh, right. Go and break a leg, honey!” he called, correcting himself.

  Mitchie watched them go, wishing she could see them in the audience when she was onstage. But she knew that once all the lights were on, all she would see was a big empty space. Her face went pale.

  “Are you okay?” Shane asked.

  “Yeah,” Mitchie said. “No. I think I might be sick.” She leaned over, her hands on her knees, and took deep breaths.

  “Excuse me,” Shane said, stopping a crew member as he walked by. “Mitchie needs a paper bag.”

  “And maybe some water,” Mitchie added, hunched over.

  “Any special kind?” the crew member said.

  “Of bag?” Mitchie asked.

  The stagehand rolled his eyes. “Of water.”