Rock Royalty (3 page)

“You're right,” said Mitchie doubtfully. “It doesn't hurt to ask. I'll check first thing tomorrow, before breakfast.”

“I'm sure she'll say yes,” Shane said. “Connie's always liked me.”

“Connie?” Mitchie asked, eyeing him. “You're on a first-name basis with my mother now?”

“Mrs. Torres.” Shane grinned. “If that will get her to let you come to Los Angeles.”

Mitchie laughed. These moments with Shane were some of Mitchie's favorite times at camp.

But she and Shane weren't alone. At the far end of the long line of canoes pulled up onshore, someone lay in the bottom of one of them, listening as Shane and Mitchie excitedly discussed which song they would perform at the concert.

“What about that song you wrote a couple weeks ago?” Shane asked.

“No. It's not ready yet,” said Mitchie. “But what about your song, ‘Hectic'?”

Hidden in the bottom of the canoe, the eavesdropper scribbled the word “Hectic” on a pad of paper.

“No,” said Shane. “I think the tempo's too fast for this event. But you know what I think would be perfect?”

“What?” asked Mitchie, straining as she and Shane beached their canoe.

“The song you sang at B's Jam,” answered Shane.

The person in the boat scratched out “Hectic” and wrote “This Place.”

“I couldn't,” Mitchie said. “Not in front of all those people!”

“You could,” said Shane, putting his arm around Mitchie. “Remember, I'll be right there with you!”

The person in the boat, still unnoticed by Shane and Mitchie as they left the lake for their respective cabins, scribbled furiously.

Once he was sure Mitchie and Shane were out of sight, the observer sat up. It was Mac! “My editors are gonna
love
this,” he said, smiling. Slowly, he got up and headed back to his cabin, his cover safe for now.

What no one knew at Camp Rock was that Mac wasn't there as a budding rock star; he was there as a budding rock journalist. And he had just uncovered a
major
scoop!

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F
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W
hen Mitchie had bounded in to her cabin and told Caitlyn about the fund-raising concert, Caitlyn had thought it was a great idea. So had Brown when Shane asked him about it.

The next morning, however, Connie Torres was not as convinced.

“I'm sorry, honey. It's just too far. I can't go with you to L.A. because I have to stay here and feed the camp,” Connie said as she stirred a giant bowl of waffle batter. “Plus, it's probably very expensive.”

“What about Dad?” pleaded Mitchie.

Her mother thought for a second, as if that might work, but then her face fell and she shook her head. “He's in Florida for business that week,” she said, remembering.

Connie looked genuinely disappointed for her daughter, but it just wasn't going to work out. She couldn't let Mitchie run off by herself with a rock star to Los Angeles for the weekend!

Mitchie picked glumly at the bowl of blueberries in front of her, but she'd lost her appetite.

“I'm sorry, honey,” her mother said again when Mitchie remained silent.

Mitchie nodded—she knew her mother was sorry, but that didn't make it stink any less. Mitchie rose slowly from the table. It was time for breakfast, and the rest of the campers were beginning to file into the mess hall. Pushing through the doors, Mitchie walked from the kitchen into the dining room to join her friends.

“So, what'd she say?” Peggy asked as Mitchie plopped down at a table with Caitlyn, Peggy, Colby, and Mac.

Mitchie looked over at Peggy with a large frown. “Does my face answer your question?” she asked.

“I guess that's a no . . .” Caitlyn said, sighing. “Too bad, Mitchie. I'm sorry. That's a bummer. It would have been a pretty unbelievable experience.”

“Yeah,” said Mitchie. “It would have been. I guess I should look on the bright side, though.”

“What's that?” Colby asked.

Mitchie wrinkled her forehead. “I'm not sure!” She laughed. “But I'll try and find one . . . eventually.”

Mitchie attempted to eat some eggs, but by the time Brown thumped on a microphone at the end of breakfast to get everyone's attention, they were still a yellow, rubbery mound on her plate. The news had taken away her appetite.

Thump, thump, thump.
Slowly, glasses and silverware stopped clinking, and the campers grew quiet as they waited for the director to speak.

“Thank you,” Brown said. “And good morning! I have a special announcement to make.”

Now the dining hall was
really
quiet. When Brown said “special” announcement, he usually meant super special.

“I'm excited to tell you that I got a call from T.J. Tyler last night.” At the mention of her mother, Tess beamed. “The theater in L.A. that was going to host the School Rocks concert unfortunately had to back out.”

A whisper rippled through the room as campers turned to look at Tess, expecting her face to fall as she realized the concert was off. The smile stayed, frozen on her lips.

Brown continued. “But the concert is still on. It's just moving a little.” He paused. “To our very own backyard. The concert will now be held in town—at Lincoln High School. And we are
all
invited to attend!”

Applause burst from the crowd. Ecstatic and wide-eyed, Mitchie looked at all her friends.

“This means you
can
perform in the concert!” Mac exclaimed.

“I guess so,” said Mitchie. “I can't believe it!”

“Well, believe it, girl,” Peggy said. “ 'Cause this isn't a dream.”

Before she could say more, Brown tapped on the microphone again. Apparently there
was
more news.

“Since this was such short notice for Lincoln High, I've volunteered you all to help.” Groans rang out. “Tone it down,” he said. “It just means you'll be helping with the set and decorations. And just in case we get any foot traffic, Dee has been put in charge of sprucing up the place.”

His announcement done, Brown walked off, leaving a noisy—and excited—roomful of campers behind.

W
ith only one day until the concert, all of Camp Rock was mobilized to prepare. Dee La Duke, the camp music director, organized a campwide trash pickup. Every cabin had to bring her as many candy wrappers, soda cans, and pieces of litter as they could find. Discarded guitar picks counted double. The cabin that collected the most trash would win an ice-cream party in B-Note.

A select group of campers was placed on decoration duty and headed into town. They followed the directions of the School Rocks event design coordinator to transform Lincoln High's theater into an A-list concert-worthy auditorium. Red carpets were laid down along the aisles. Streamers were strung from the rafters, and Barron James and Sander Loya were in charge of rigging a balloon-and-confetti drop from the ceiling.

Amidst it all, Tess reigned, acting as the pop princess she knew she was destined to be. “Barron!” Tess shouted from the stage. Barron and Sander were balancing on the scaffolding above her. “Are those red balloons?”

“Sure are,” Sander affirmed.

“But my outfit's pink,” Tess said.

“And your point . . . ?” Barron asked.

“Red clashes with pink,” Tess said with an exaggerated sigh.

“You can wear the turquoise, strappy dress from my costume trunk instead,” offered Lorraine, who was, as always, standing close by Tess.

“Isn't that the dress you were going to wear, Lorraine?” Peggy asked.

“Well, yeah,” Lorraine said, shrugging. “But I'm happy to let Tess wear it if she wants.”

Mac had also pulled decorating duty and was standing nearby. “No need!” he said. “Red and pink is actually the color combo of the moment, according to
Celeb Beat
magazine.”

“Really?” Ella asked.

Mac nodded.

“Oh, yeah,” Tess said thoughtfully. “I think I remember reading that, now that you mention it. Red balloons are fine, Sander. Proceed!” Tess shouted up to the guys rigging the balloons.

“What?” Barron yelled back down. As he did, a cascade of red balloons tumbled from the rafters and landed on top of Tess.

Ella, Lorraine, and Mac laughed, but Tess scowled.

“Oh, come on, Tess,” Mac said gently. “You have to admit, that was kinda funny.”

Not immune to Mac's Southern charm, Tess's lips cracked into a smile and she finally started laughing. Their giggles were interrupted by Caitlyn and a School Rocks stagehand approaching Mac.

“Hey,” said Caitlyn. “Bob here needs help leading the wires from the sound booth to the stage. You think you could help?”

“Sure!” Mac cried.

“And we need one more person,” said Caitlyn, looking at the others who were standing around.

“Ella's really good at that stuff, too,” Mac said.

Ella blushed at the compliment. “Sure, I can help,” she offered.

“Great,” replied Caitlyn. “Let's follow Bob.”

The three followed the stagehand, who was dressed all in black even though the show wasn't for another day, down the stage stairs and to the back of the theater.

As Caitlyn helped Bob with a jumble of wires and checked the sound using the various buttons and levers on the soundboard, Mac looked on in wonder.

“You really know your stuff,” Mac said as Caitlyn fiddled with the equipment.

“It's not all that different from my computer,” Caitlyn said.

“I'm not so good with computers,” Mac replied.

“How can you not be good with computers?” Caitlyn asked, sounding genuinely confused. “You
are
aware that you live in the twenty-first century, right?”

“Well, I figured they were just a passing fad.” Mac flashed a joking smile.

Caitlyn laughed. “Are you on Facebook? Or MySpace? IM?”

“I might consider it if you are,” Mac said.

Caitlyn turned a deep shade of red. She had no idea what to say. And normally she was the first with a witty comeback! “Okay, Bob,” she said instead, speaking into a microphone to distract herself, “I think we're all set here. Mac and I will start running wires down to the stage.”

On the stage, there was a flurry of excitement. Mitchie and Shane had just arrived for their sound check, and both the School Rocks PR team and stage crew were bustling around them.

“Which angle do you think is her best?” someone shouted to a camera operator.

“Red filters on the lights will look fabulous with Mitchie's hair,” a stylist observed from the sidelines.

The PR team had gone all out for the event, hiring everyone who was anyone in the business. When the event got press—and it would—School Rocks wanted its stars looking terrific.

“Oooh,” gushed a makeup person. “And I can put some pink highlighting around her cheekbones to make her eyes pop.”

Listening to everyone talk about her as if she weren't there, Mitchie stood, frozen to the spot. “I'm not sure I want my eyes to pop,” she whispered to Shane. “That sounds like it hurts.”

Shane chuckled, but Mitchie was serious. She wasn't sure how to handle all this attention. So she just stood still as people fluttered around her, touching her hair and her clothes, positioning her on the stage, and setting her microphone to the right height.

Repeatedly, she shot Shane a look that cried, “Help me!”

“Do you like the mike here?” an assistant asked Mitchie. He lowered the microphone two inches. “Or here?”

Mitchie thought about it. “Um . . . here, I guess.”

“Shane,” someone else asked, “do you think you should be more upstage?”

Shane looked at Mitchie. “What do you think?”

Mitchie shrugged. “More downstage.”

The more questions the “talent handlers” asked, the more comfortable Mitchie became with giving orders. By the time the actual sound check commenced, Mitchie was enjoying herself. It was a whirlwind, but she had to admit . . . it was kind of fun to be at the center of it all.

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