Camp Rock (4 page)

I
t was early—again—when Mitchie's alarm went off. She thought she managed to sneak out of the Vibe Cabin without waking up the other girls, but she didn't go altogether unnoticed. From her bed, Tess watched Mitchie and wondered just what was going on.

By midmorning, Mitchie was wiped out. Her double duty and early wake-up calls were beginning to wear on her. She ran from the kitchen, around the mess hall, and in again through the front door, plopping down next to Tess, Ella, and Peggy, who were already eating
breakfast.

“Where were you this morning?” Tess asked, as if she were accusing Mitchie of something.

Before she could answer, Mitchie saw her mother crossing the mess hall toward them. “Oh, no,” she said under her breath.

“Hi, girls.” Connie smiled at them.

“Uh … hi,” said Tess.

“Hi. Uh, so … yummy breakfast,” Mitchie said, sending her mother desperate mental messages not to blow her cover.

“How would you know?” her mom chided. “There's hardly anything on your plate.”

Mitchie gave her a look that said, “Please be cool.” Connie caught her drift and dropped it.

“Morning carbs,” Tess said haughtily. “Definite no-no.”

“Um, yeah,” Mitchie agreed.

Connie bit her tongue and smiled. “I just wanted to meet Mitchie's new friends.”

Mitchie introduced the girls. “This is Tess, Peggy, Ella.”

“Hi,” Peggy and Ella said in unison.

Tess was clearly not into it. “Yeah, hi. Again,” she said, then turned away, not one to waste time on “the help.”

Connie was taken aback by Tess's attitude. “Well, looks like you girls are busy. I'll talk to you later,” she said before leaving.

“Okay,” Tess said, raising an eyebrow, “what's up with random kitchen lady? Do you know her?” she asked Mitchie.

“Huh? I mean, don't you? She's cooked for everybody from Jessica and Nick pre-breakup to Pharrel.”

“Really?” Ella asked, looking at her plate in a whole new light.

Mitchie nodded. “I'm shocked the camp got her,” she continued. Nice save, she thought to herself.

“You mean Jessica ate these eggs?” Peggy wondered.

Mitchie nodded again, and Peggy and Ella chowed down.

Holding back a sigh of relief, Mitchie picked up her fork. Her secret was still safe—for
now.

“So, your friends seem nice,” Connie said later that afternoon as she and Mitchie prepared dinner. “Tess is … interesting.”

Mitchie rolled her eyes. “She's better once you get to know her.”

Connie pursed her lips, then said, “She just doesn't seem like she's your type. You've always been—”

“Invisible,” Mitchie inserted.

“I was going to say independent.” Connie looked at her daughter, about to say more. But the moment was ruined by the oven buzzer. “Better hurry up and finish those potatoes if you want to get to the campfire!”

Mitchie peeled faster.

I
n his room in Brown's cabin, Shane strummed his guitar. He was playing a tune that had stuck in his head since the day outside the mess hall—Mitchie's song.

Brown appeared at the door. “That's cool.” He smiled. “Like your old stuff.”

Shane kept strumming. “Yeah. I was thinking maybe the group could change up our sound. Do something different.”

His uncle nodded. This was progress. Not wanting to push it, he shifted gears. “So are you coming to the campfire?”

“Yeah, right.” Shane scoffed at the idea.

“Okay. Sit in here by yourself, superstar,” Brown said, disappointed yet again as he went to join the campers.

Shane sat on his bed and played his guitar alone. It wasn't that he didn't want to go; his ego was just blocking the way.

A
cross camp, the flames of a bonfire touched the starry night sky.

On the stage set up nearby, Dee addressed the crowd. “So tonight is what we call Campfire Jam. It's about expression. The freedom to be who you are.”

The kids applauded and cheered.

“Who's up first?” she asked.

Tons of hands shot up, and soon the first act took the stage.

Tess, Peggy, and Ella stood near the back of the stage, waiting for their turn.

“Where is Mitchie?” Peggy asked.

“Right here,” Mitchie said, running up and joining the group.

Brown approached them. “You girls are up next. Rock it!”

As Brown turned to go speak with Dee, he noticed his nephew walking up. Shane propped himself against a tree, away from the campfire, his hands stuffed into his pockets. It was a small step, but it was still a step. Brown smiled.

“Okay. Let's do it,” Tess said.

The crowd watched as Tess, Mitchie, Ella, and Peggy took the stage. Tess stepped forward and tapped the microphone, which made a loud thumping noise. Catching sight of Shane, she covered the mike and whispered, “He's watching. Don't mess up.” Then she cued Barron and Sander at the soundboard and the
music started.

Tess sang loud and big, as always, her eyes never leaving Shane. Behind her, Mitchie, Ella, and Peggy shimmied and shook and “oooh'd” and “ahhh'd.”

When the song came to an end, the crowd broke into loud applause. At his spot by the tree, Shane's hands stayed in his pockets.

His thoughts were interrupted by two boys who didn't see him in the shadows. “Shane Gray is so played,” the first one said as they passed.

“Not if you like that cookie-cutter pop-star garbage,” said the other one. “I heard he's going to lose his contract.”

“I hope so,” the first one said. “Gift to my ears.”

They laughed, unaware that Shane had heard everything. His face—and pride—burning, he turned and walked away.

Tess saw Shane leaving and cocked her head. Had he hated their performance? There was no time to wonder, though, as she walked off the stage and practically bumped into Caitlyn, who
was waiting in the wings with her laptop.

Catching Mitchie's eye, Caitlyn gave her a long look. “Enjoy singing backup?” she asked sarcastically.

Mitchie didn't answer. Lowering her head, she walked away, Caitlyn's words ringing in her ears.

M
itchie was still upset by Caitlyn's remark as she made her way down one of the paths by the lake the next day. Suddenly, she heard singing—good singing. Following the voice, she came to the director's cabin. Shane was sitting on the steps, strumming a guitar. Hearing footsteps, he stopped.

“Can't a guy get some peace?” Shane groaned. Looking up, he saw that the intruder was Mitchie—one of the girls in his hip-hop class.

“Sorry,” Mitchie said, ducking to turn away, then turning back. “Was that you singing? It was kinda … different.”

“Than my usual cookie-cutter pop-star stuff?” Shane asked sarcastically. The words the guys at the bonfire had said were echoing in his head. “Sorry to disappoint.” He went back to picking his guitar.

“You didn't,” Mitchie said quickly. “I liked it. It was good for stupid cookie-cutter star stuff.”

She smiled and so did he. He set the guitar down. “Thanks,” he said. “You really know how to make a guy feel better.”

“I thought you loved your sound.” Mitchie frowned. “You created it here. You're, like, a Camp Rock legend.”

Shane heaved a heavy sigh. “Some legend. I play the music the label thinks will sell.”

Mitchie leaned on the banister of the cabin porch. “You don't think that song would sell?”

Shane considered Mitchie's question. “I don't know,” he said finally.

“Well,” said Mitchie, swinging on the porch post, “you'll never know unless you try.” She smiled. “And by the way, I know one girl who would buy that song.” Turning, she disappeared down the path.

A
nother day, another lunch at Camp Rock. Mitchie, Tess, Ella, and Peggy carried their trays to their table. They passed Caitlyn working on her laptop, absentmindedly splaying her legs into the aisle.

Tess looked down, but it was too late. She tripped over Caitlyn's foot and teetered forward, her tray perilously close to spilling its contents. At the last second, she caught herself.

“Oops. Sorry,” Caitlyn said. “Actually, I'm not.”

“I would respond, but …” Tess's words trailed off as if what she was about to say was just too
horrible to be uttered aloud.

“But you are responding by saying you're not responding,” Ella pointed out.

“Shut up,” hissed Tess.

Tess started to move on, but as she did so, her tray tipped ever so slightly. Some of her food spilled off her plate and onto Caitlyn.

“Hey! That was on purpose!” Caitlyn cried out, wiping food from her pant leg.

“Does it matter?” asked Tess innocently. “Anything makes that outfit look better.” She tilted her tray once again, and more food spilled. “See?”

Caitlyn had had enough. Grabbing a handful of noodles from her plate, she flung them at Tess.

“Hey, guys, stop!” Mitchie pleaded, trying to put an end to things before they got out of control. But it was too late for that—the noodles Caitlyn had thrown hit Mitchie.

“Oops. My spaghetti slipped,” Caitlyn said.

“I can't believe you did that!” Tess yelled.

Caitlyn did it again. She laughed.

But her laughter stopped immediately when
a familiar voice spoke up.

“Neither can I,” said Brown.

Turning, Mitchie, Tess, and Caitlyn found themselves staring at one very unhappy camp director. He raised a hand and pointed at the three of them. They were in big trouble.

I
nside the director's cabin, Brown paced in front of Mitchie, Tess, and Caitlyn. The three girls stood before him, silently dripping food remnants on the cabin floor.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Brown stopped pacing and sighed. “Lay it on me,” he said.

Caitlyn and Tess began screaming at the same time.

“She has always been jealous of me. She cannot stand the fact that I am probably going to win Final Jam, and she just started flinging food at me. I'm going to have my dad sue. These are Gucci shoes!” Tess screeched.

“She's impossible. She walks around here like she owns the place, and why? Because her mom has some Grammys. So when she ‘spilled' food on me, I lost it,” Caitlyn yelled over her.

“Enough!” Brown bellowed. The girls fell into a strained silence. They'd never heard Brown raise his voice. “Who was the first one to throw food?” He tried again.

Tess smiled. “That's easy. Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn turned and looked at Mitchie, silently asking her to stand up and tell the truth. Mitchie's eyes dropped to the ground.

“That's technically true,” Caitlyn started, “but—”

“No ‘buts,'” Brown cut her off. “Since you want to play with food,” Brown went on, facing Caitlyn, “I can hook you up with a job in the kitchen. From here on out, you are on kitchen duty.”

“What?” Mitchie blurted out. If Caitlyn came to work in the kitchen, she would totally find out Mitchie's secret! “I mean, ewww,” she said when everyone looked at her.

“But—” Caitlyn began to object.

Brown put his hand up. “Again with the ‘buts.'

Look, it's settled.” And with that, he exited the cabin, leaving two upset girls and one smug one in his wake.

T
he next day, Mitchie found herself, a box full of potato chips in hand, racing down one of the camp's paths. With her eyes focused on the ground, she didn't notice Shane until she practically bumped into him.

Shane looked at her, then at her chips, and then back at her. A smile spread across his face. “Hungry?” he teased.

“Just a little bit,” Mitchie said, smiling back at him.

There was an awkward moment as Shane and Mitchie both stood smiling and nodding, unsure of what to say.

“You got a minute?” Shane asked, breaking the silence. “I wanna run something by you.”

Mitchie gazed down the path toward the kitchen. I should be getting back to my mom, she thought. Then she looked back at Shane.

“Uh, sure,” she said. She could spare a minute. After all, it was Shane Gray.

He gestured to a spot off the path and Mitchie followed, potato chips in tow.

A moment later, Mitchie was getting her own unplugged Shane Gray performance. She listened, impressed. The song was good. Unlike his usual stuff, this music was soulful and unique, raw with emotion. Shane played the last couple of chords and looked up at Mitchie.

“I heard this girl singing, and it kind of reminded me of the music that I like.” In fact, Shane had been haunted by the girl's sound—little did he know, Mitchie's sound—since he'd heard it. “So I just started playing around with some chords. I know it's not finished, but—” he stopped, suddenly shy.

“No. It's really good,” Mitchie assured him. Whoever the girl was, she had definitely made an impact. For a moment, Mitchie wished it had been her. But that was silly thinking …

Shane stared at Mitchie. He was so used to girls just screaming that he had forgotten what it was like to actually talk to one.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Mitchie asked, blushing under his gaze.

“I don't know,” Shane answered. “You seem different.”

Mitchie laughed. Shane had no idea just how different she was. But did she dare tell him the truth? Maybe he would understand. She opened her mouth to speak, but then Shane smiled wider and Mitchie changed her mind.

Now wasn't the time. Maybe later …

T
ess was walking on one of the paths that crossed by the spot where Mitchie and Shane were talking. She had her cell phone pressed to her ear.

“Camp is great, Cynthia… Okay, when mom gets out of the studio, can you tell her I called again and that I love her?”

Not surprisingly, Tess hadn't heard from her mom in days. T.J. Tyler was in the midst of one of her “creative streaks,” during which she didn't like to be bothered.

Looking up as she clicked the phone shut, her
mouth dropped open. Mitchie and Shane were in the middle of the woods—together.

“So, I'd better get going,” Tess heard Mitchie say.

“To the kitchen?” Shane asked.

“Huh?” Mitchie responded, taken off-guard. Did he know?

He pointed to the chips. “To get some dip for those.”

“Oh, yeah, right.”

They both laughed, like old friends would at an inside joke.

Mitchie felt her heart race. This was good. Very good.

Up on the path, Tess watched. This was bad. Very bad.